Fairytale
by Callow
Summary: An angst-light fairytale about a cursed prince and the quest to save him. And the importance of herbal tea.
1. Chapter 1

Title: **Fairytale**  
Chapter: **1/author not well organised enough to know how long this thing will be**  
Characters: **Pretty much everyone**  
Pairings: **Sephiroth/Cloud, Zack/Aerith, Tifa/Rude, mentions of Sephiroth/randoms and others as we encounter them**  
Rating: **R overall**  
Summary: **An angst-light fairytale about a cursed prince.**  
Warnings: **Yaoi, het, violence, language, a cavalier attitude to historical accuracy, silliness and bloody Sephiroth being an angst muffin.**  
A/N: **Modern English in what in my head looks an awful lot like 18th century Europe. Calm down, it's fantasy and Zack is totally a time wizard anyway.**

* * *

"Thirty years ago, a king and his queen ruled the largest and most prosperous country on Gaia. For many years, they were without children, and their people shared their sorrow. As the years passed, and the queen began to age and the king began to fear they would never know the blessing of children, the king ordered sent out word across the land asking for the help of any enchantress, sorceror, surgeon or herbalist that could give them the baby they wished for so much.

"Day after day, enchantresses came down from the mountains and in from the northern iceflows, sorcerors rode from their remote peninsulas, surgeons travelled from every town, and herbalists altered their trade routes to tend to the king and queen. They tried potions and spells and charms and leechcraft and finally prayer, but nothing seemed to work. The king and queen despaired.

"As springtime approached, the queen spent more time in her own corner of the gardens. She had resigned herself to knowing that her lilies and forget-me-nots would be her only children. One chilly day in early spring, she entered her garden to find someone already there.

"An enchantress waited for her, and, telling the queen of her sorrow on her behalf, gave the queen a potion in vial carved from ice. She promised her that, if she drank the potion that night an hour before she lay with the king, they would conceive a son. Before the queen could ask anything of her, the enchantress had vanished.

"That night, the queen followed the enchantress' instructions, and drank the potion before she lay with the king. Sure enough, they conceived and that winter, the queen gave birth to a son.

"But something was wrong. The baby boy was weak, and the queen weaker still. The midwife tried everything she knew, then she called for the king's surgeon. The surgeon knew at a glance that there was nothing he could do, and he called at once for a priest. At dawn, the queen was laid to rest in the royal crypt, her infant son in her arms."

Cloud paused and took in the five upturned faces at his feet. Emery looked bored; he'd found a caterpillar on the tree trunk beside him and busied himself gently picking it up and attaching it to Giselle's braid. He conscientiously tucked a leaf into her hair for it to eat. Giselle hadn't noticed, she was listening to Cloud's story, her expression one of puppy-like infatuation. Beside her, her brother, Willem, frowned up at Cloud.

"That's it?" he demanded. "The queen dies, the end?"

"Well, yeah," Cloud shrugged. "That's history."

"What happened next, then?" Willem asked. "What happened to the king?"

"He died of a broken heart," sighed Giselle. Her friends, Gretchen and Annalisa, sighed rapturously. Willem rolled his eyes and Emery made a gagging noise behind Giselle. He stuck another leaf into her braid for the caterpillar.

"Well..." Cloud paused for effect. Unofficial history lessons be damned, he liked telling the kids stories. "They say that as the queen lay dying, the king rode for three days and three nights until he found the enchantress again, and he begged her to save his wife and son. She agreed to save his son, but her magic wasn't great enough to save the queen. Furthermore, the enchantress' power came at a terrible price: the prince was cursed - "

"Is that crowned prince Sephiroth?" said Willem. "Everyone says he's cursed."

"Who's everyone?" demanded Giselle. "Only grandmama says that, and papa says not to listen to her."

"Maybe," Cloud said, cutting them off before they could begin to argue. "If the story's true. The books all say that the crowned prince is the first son of the king's second wife, Jenova."

"How was the prince cursed?" asked Emery. Curses were so much more interesting than royal lineage.

Cloud leaned forward conspiratorially and dropped his voice into a dramatic whisper. "He has to eat the flesh of living humans to stay alive."

"Raw or cooked?" asked Emery. Giselle and her friends squealed in disgust.

Suddenly, the sound of someone approaching along the path came across the clearing; whoever it was moved through the bushes at a brisk jog, dead leaves crunching under their feet.

"Look out!" Willem leapt to his feet and pointed. "It's the prince, come to get you!"

The girls squealed and sped away, back toward the village, nearly barrelling into the young woman on the narrow path.

"Cloud Strife, have you been filling their heads with stories again?" Tifa, the daughter of a local nobleman - the local nobleman - appeared at the edge of the clearing. Notorious for escaping from her tutors and dressing like a working woman, with her sleeves rolled and her skirts pragmatically to her ankles, her father had despaired of her ever growing into the fine lady her mother had been. His dismay only deepened when she became friends with Cloud and rumours began to circulate when they became inseparable. As the years passed, though, Tifa bloomed into a woman every bit as lovely as her mother, and found herself more of a practical sister than anything else to the ever flighty Cloud. Now, she stood with her hands firm on her hips and her chin raised.

"No," Cloud said, his expression at its most innocent. "They asked if I'd give them a histoy lesson."

He smiled and her stern posture gave way.

"And that stuff about the prince being cursed?" she said. "I don't think that's in any books I've read."

"You heard that?" Cloud glanced at Emery and Willem. "Home time," he told them. "It's getting late."

They watched the boys trail away in the same direction as the girls. When their footsteps had dwindled into the distance, Tifa turned back to Cloud, a frown on her face.

"It's treason," she said "saying things like that about the prince."

"Who'll know?" Cloud asked. He stood up. "It really is getting late. Won't your father be worried you're out by yourself?"

Tifa drew herself up in a way that she'd seen her aunt - a duchess, apparently - once do. In Cloud's unspoken opinion, it'd have been more impressive if she were taller.

"I'm almost twenty," she said haughtily. "If I'm old enough to get married, then I'm old enough to be out on my own."

"With the town witch's son," said Cloud. He began to walk back toward the village, Tifa falling into step beside him.

"I'm not worried about people talking," she peered at him. "And I know you're not."

They walked in companionable silence for a while. A little ways ahead, before the uneven path inclined sharply downward to the village, the path narrowed. Cloud stepped into the undergrowth and held a whippy branch out of the way for Tifa.

"Where did you disappear to today?" he asked. He fell into step a couple of paces behind her.

Cloud couldn't see her face, but he was sure he could hear the grimace in Tifa's voice.

"Apparently Queen Jenova's decided it's time that crowned prince Sephiroth got married."

"Aren't you a little... common for that?"

Tifa half turned and swatted him across the crown of his head.

"I mean," Cloud said "you're not a princess, no matter what your father calls you."

Tifa snorted, sounding most unladylike.

"No one of um, appropriate rank," she immitated the polished accent of the ruling class "wants to marry him. Because of that flesh eating thing."

"Treason, Tifa."

She swatted him again, hitting his clavicle this time because of the slope of the path.

"So Queen Jenova's trying to find someone who isn't around court enough to have heard the rumours." She glanced at him, almost nervously, he thought, over her shoulder. "Father - father doesn't believe the rumours."

Cloud stopped walking abruptly, and Tifa turned to face him. He tried not to look disapproving, and she reached over one shoulder and played with her hair, uncommonly girlish in her discomfort.

"I'm not actually marrying him," she said hurriedly. "Nothing's been - I mean, there's no arrangements or anything yet. The messengers only left this afternoon with Father's ... Father's acceptance. They might still say I'm too common or, or there'll be someone else who accepts that they ... like better."

She bit her lower lip, hands folded in front of her. She didn't want to marry Sephiroth, that much Cloud could see, but he wondered if there was something she wasn't telling him. He knew she loved him much as he did her, but he doubted it was just that she was going to miss him.

"You don't believe the rumours, do you?" he asked.

"No, it's stupid," she said. "I... Cloud. I never told you but..."

"Someone else?" he said. Something in his chest pulled taut with loss; some childish resentment that his best - his only, really - friend might abandon him for someone else. He applauded himself for keeping his voice neutral.

Tifa put her knuckles to her lips. Cloud had never seen her do that.

"He's only a blacksmith's son," she said eventually. "From the lowlands."

Being a member of the peasant class gave Cloud a somewhat different perspective on what constituted a good marriage partner, and he nodded approvingly.

"Good prospects and a solid trade, then," he said. Tifa laughed, voice tinged with hysteria.

"Cloud! Father won't approve," she twisted her hands in her overskirt and Cloud wondered how they'd gone from joking about flesh eating princes to worrying over Tifa's future. "And I haven't got anything to offer, I don't know how to do anything - anything useful!"

Unable to argue with that, Cloud instead wrapped an arm around her shoulders and gave her a comforting squeeze.

"Don't worry just yet. The prince will probably choose some Eastern princess with nicer legs than you and the local lords will be disgusted by your pragmatism and lack of embroidery skills. That'll make your father realise what a hopeless noble you are, he'll get to work having another, better daughter, and you'll be allowed to marry your blacksmith. Everything will be fine."

Tifa smacked the palm of her free hand into his face.


	2. Chapter 2

_Title: __**Fairytale**_

_Chapter: __**2/author not well organised enough to know how long this thing will be**_

_Characters: __**Pretty much everyone**_

_Pairings: __**Sephiroth/Cloud, Zack/Aerith, Tifa/Rude, mentions of Sephiroth/randoms and others as we encounter them**_

_Rating: __**R overall**_

_Summary: __**An angst-light fairytale about a cursed prince.**_

_Warnings: __**Yaoi, het, violence, language, a cavalier attitude to historical accuracy, silliness and bloody Sephiroth being an angst muffin.**_

_A/N: __**Summary says angst lite, but, as it says in the warning, Sephiroth is determined to make a liar of me.  
**_

_**

* * *

**_

Once upon a time, there was a monster prince. That's what all his subjects called him, anyway, after years of strange disappearances and blood staining the white stones of the palace courtyard. He believed them. He'd always known that ordinary men didn't need the flesh of their fellow men to survive. Ordinary men didn't move with his speed, his grace, his absolute precision.

Ordinary men couldn't see the things that could only live in shadow.

Ordinary men, he reflected sardonically, wouldn't be stuck listening to an aging military leader on the first day of the hunting season. An _old_ military leader, with a paunch born of peace-time complacency and a waxed moustache, his voice an irritating snuffle. Sephiroth laced his fingers together, and tried to look focussed as the general sitting across from him cleared his throat for what had to be the tenth time in as many minutes. It was a prelude to another lengthy speech, a rehashing of a ten-page report on nothing. He glanced pointedly at the stack of papers on his desk, written in a hand that shook with ague.

"I have read your report," Sephiroth said, cutting the general off mid-snuffle. "Do you have anything of actual relevance to add?"

The general bristled minutely and Sephiroth was sure he could _see_ a phrase containing the words "longer than you've been alive" forming on his lips. Then he remembered to whom he spoke.

"No, Your Majesty," he said.

At a gesture from Sephiroth, he rose, bowed, and left the room with dignity. His footfalls picked up speed as soon as he was in the corridor, breaking into a wheezy run as soon as he thought he was out of earshot.

Sephiroth allowed himself to slouch in his chair. He'd been entered into the nation's armed forces as soon as he was big enough to wield a sword, as was right for a nobleman. His stern aspect, fearless nature and that bloody curse that was supposed to be a secret had propelled him up through the ranks almost as much as his skill had, and now the Queen had given full authority over her military forces to him. Sephiroth had great (and somewhat grudging) respect for his mother, but he'd come to suspect that she'd done it at least in part because it was all so tedious.

The door to his office opened on silent hinges. Sephiroth didn't straighten. There were only two people bold enough not to knock at his door and he didn't feel the need to be the Crowned Prince around either of them. To his silent relief, it was the one he actually liked.

"Come in, Zack," he said belatedly.

Zack was a moderately close relative of Sephiroth's late father (though Sephiroth neither remembered nor cared to what extent he and Zack were related) who lived most of the year in an estate not far away from the palace. They'd taken lessons, trained and hunted together as boys and, in spite of the curse and Sephiroth's taciturn disposition they'd managed to become friends. Sephiroth blamed _that_ entirely on Zack. That coming spring, Zack was supposed to be getting married but he made a point to spend at least half an hour a day with his - often muddy - feet on Sephiroth's desk.

When his fiancée complained he brought her with him, and to Sephiroth's horror, she'd made daisy chains and gleefully strung them around the room. Thankfully, she wasn't around today.

"Aerith sends her love," true to form, Zack slumped gracelessly in the general's vacated chair, his feet on Sephiroth's nice clean desk, on top of the general's report. Its first page tore. At least there wasn't any mud this time. "She says she's sorry, she doesn't have any daisy chains at present. She's promised to make you a garland of roses and baby's breath for next time though."

"Wonderful," said Sephiroth flatly. The daisies had dropped pollen all over him and his documents. It stained too. "Doesn't your fiancée have anything better to do?"

"Probably," Zack shrugged one shoulder, grinning. Sephiroth sighed; his pale hair had been spotted with yellow for a week. Zack had met his match, and the country was doomed when they started breeding.

"I have other officials to see this afternoon," Sephiroth said. "Are you going to be here long, or is it another promise-of-future-torment and run sort of visit?"

"Your other appointments are cancelled. We're going hunting."

Sephiroth didn't even blink, though he could feel a wistful sort of whine pushing its way up from his breastbone. He loved the hunt. Deer, rabbits, foxes, _monsters_; the breeze in his face; the lack of paperwork involved; he loved it all. He gave Zack a narrow look.

"How do you know my appointments are cancelled?"

"I cancelled them." Of course.

Sephiroth stood and walked to the door. When Zack didn't follow, he turned and raised an eyebrow.

"That's it?" Zack said. "No protests, no telling me I don't have the authority to fuck around with your schedule?"

"No," agreed Sephiroth.

Zack's gave a theatrical sigh as he bounded to his feet.

"Then I came just in time."

* * *

Later that day, when the amber sunlight threw long shadows between the trees, Sephiroth and Zack idled by a river, chewing cured venison, the carcass of a levrikon nearby still steaming in the autumnal chill. It had been a disappointing first day of the hunt: Zack had noticed Sephiroth growing agitated toward the end of the day and encouraged him to kill the unfortunate levrikon. That had helped, but Sephiroth still felt an uncomfortable prickling just beneath his skin, as though his blood was trying to burst through his pores. He didn't tell Zack. It would only worry him, and Sephiroth didn't want to ruin what had been an enjoyable afternoon in the sunshine in spite of the bad hunting.

He breathed deeply through his nose and tried to ignore the pricking of his cursed blood.

Zack leaned back his elbows, his left ankle propped on his right knee and his wild dark hair hanging loose over his shoulders. He was uncommonly quiet, apparently fascinated by the scuffed toe of his boot.

"Aerith's trying to get me to wear new boots," he said. Sephiroth turned his head minutely toward him and made a vague noise in his throat.

"Yeah, unreasonable," Zack said. "They've only got that one hole in the toe, and it's not even big. Still. Do any of your boyfriends try to do that?"

Sephiroth wondered why he'd ask. Zack's interest in his sex life generally precluded any sentimental rubbish and Sephiroth approved. He watched a bird dive into the river and scoop up a fish. "They're not boyfriends. A relationship with another man would be inappropriate for someone of my position."

"Well, they're not _lovers_, and I didn't want to say _conquests_. So do they?"

"What?"

"Try to make you wear new boots."

"Why would they?" Sephiroth shifted slightly where he leant against the trunk of an oak tree. Zack gave him a pitying look that made him feel ill.

"Isn't that lonely?" he said after a minute. Sephiroth stared at him and he sighed. "It'd be hypocritical of me to bug you about casual relationships -"

"Very."

"-shut up. But don't you ever want, y'know, someone who cares about the state of your boots?"

"That redhead, Wythe. He cared about the state of my boots."

"The one with the nice legs? He was a cobbler! It's his job to care about your boots, you idiot. And that's not what I bloody meant."

The surface of the river shivered for a moment with the movement of a fish. Sephiroth avoided Zack's gaze, knowing he'd be looking at him with those damnable puppy eyes, patient and immovable as granite when he wanted something.

"Mother is trying to arrange a wife for me, as you know," he said stiffly.

"And?"

"And no one's interested in letting their daughter marry the monster prince," he snapped. "You already know all about this, Zackary, why bring it up?"

"I worry about you," Zack, damn him, kept his voice gentle. He rolled onto his left elbow, the better to look at him. "Aerith does too, you know. She likes you, even though you keep trying to put her off. I mean now you've got me to annoy you, but I'm getting married and inheriting a title and all that crap, so I won't be around as often."

Even though he'd thought about it all before, hearing Zack say it made Sephiroth feel cold inside.

"But who'll you have then?" Zack continued. "I keep seeing you with some little moron Her Majesty thinks will make cute grandchildren, stuck with those brothers of yours and having nothing to occupy you but the army and one-night stands. I don't want that, and I don't think that you do, either."

_God_. Sephiroth drew in a breath that only shook slightly. Zack had a talent for uncomfortable truths.

"I hate you when you're serious," he tried to keep his voice light. When Zack's expression didn't change, he sighed, a long exhalation tinged with a growl. "What precisely do you and your fiancée plan to do about any of this?"

"Well, since you ask," Zack brightened with a suddenness that was almost frightening "we thought we'd help you find a nice lover -"

"A homosexual relationship -"

"Quiet, I'm not done yet. We'll help you find a nice man with whom you share mutual affection and then we'll tell the Court that he's to be your valet and we'll give him to you as a wedding present." He reclined again, folding his hands behind his head with a smile. "And then you'll have someone to sex you up and distract you from your boring wife and horrible brothers when I'm not around to be awesome for you."

"You haven't really given this too much thought, have you?"

"That plan kept me up all night, you bastard!"

Apparently Zack's plan once he'd voiced his concerns was to make Sephiroth laugh. His next plans for Sephiroth's future only got more ridiculous as the afternoon wore on. Sephiroth's self control won out, but Zack sent himself into paroxysms of laughter imagining Sephiroth running away to be a circus clown. Acrobat or lion tamer were both too obvious, he reasoned.

Later that evening, Sephiroth went home with a smile on his face.

* * *

His smile didn't last. The prickling in his blood that had bothered him in the afternoon only got worse as the evening wore on. By the time the moon rose, his teeth itched and his fingers twitched, clawing at the air. He snarled that he wanted to be left alone and retreated to his chambers, where he paced like a caged animal.

_I _am_ a caged animal_, he thought viciously. He ripped off his jacket, balled it up and threw it to the floor. His silk cravat followed, floating to rest with a grace that infuriated him. As he wrestled with his waistcoat, there was a knock at the door.

He didn't bother to modulate his voice.

"I asked to be left alone!"

"I heard," replied a woman's voice, unusually deep and melodic, and the clatter of heavy chains. His mother, the Queen Jenova. His stomach and jaw clenched painfully. "I've brought you a remedy."

Outside his door, there was a muffled sob that froze his breath in his lungs. He growled, quietly so that Jenova wouldn't hear, and flung the door open.

His mother stood in the corridor, alone but for a young blond man bound in heavy iron chains. His hair was dirty, his shirt ripped and sweat-stained, and his cheeks were downed with a week's growth of whiskers and stained with tears. When he saw Sephiroth, he squealed around the gag in his mouth and began his struggles anew. Jenova, tall as Sephiroth and towering over the average-sized man, delivered an open-palmed slap to the side of his head, never once moving her eyes from Sephiroth's. The man fell still, his pale eyes unfocussed.

"A remedy," Sephiroth repeated tonelessly. He could smell the salt of the man's skin beneath the sweat and grime. Jenova's mouth twisted into a smile.

"Don't feel bad," she patted his cheek maternally. She took the man roughly by the open neck of his shirt and dragged him into Sephiroth's chambers. He dug his toes in. The floor squealed beneath his shoes. Sephiroth stayed by the door, turning on the spot to face Jenova. "He was sentenced to death this morning."

Sephiroth wrestled momentarily with his self-control. "Oh?" he managed, somehow, to keep his tone conversational. "What was his crime?"

"Murder, of course," Jenova released the man's shirt. She pulled a lace handkerchief from her bodice and wiped her hand, her mouth twisted. Behind her, the man shook his head, his eyes bulging, and he overbalanced, toppling over. Jenova glanced at him disdainfully as she swept back into the corridor.

"Murder," said Sephiroth. Blood had been on in the back of his mind all afternoon and now it rose like a wave and crashed over him, images and the scent of red meat. His mouth began to water.

"Yes," she said. She tucked an errant lock of hair behind his ear. "My darling, you know I want you to be well. That _man_ doesn't deserve to live. He'd be nothing but cancer on our people if he isn't executed. Do the right thing by yourself _and_ your people." She kissed him on the cheek. "Be well again, my darling."

Sephiroth heard the man whimpering, could smell his fear, could smell his _blood_, god, and his teeth ached to snuff out that trembling life. Jenova stroked his cheek with cold fingertips. He barely felt it.

"Good night, Sephiroth," she said. He nodded, and vaguely heard the lock click as she closed his door.

His shirt was made of finely woven cotton, and chafed his skin like nettles. The man on the floor continued to struggle, to whimper uselessly, and even though he could still smell his blood, something in Sephiroth, something _beastly_, wanted to savour it. He shed his strangling, itching clothes and padded over the bare floor to where the man lay.

The floor was cold - he hadn't let anyone in to light the fire - but pleasant against his feverish skin. He crouched over the man, rolled him onto his back and put one clawed hand on the soft flesh of his belly. The man's whimpers turned into muffled begging. Tears rolled from his face into his hair. Sephiroth watched, slowly, slowly transferring his weight to the hand on the man's belly, pressing him down to the floor. He lowered his head to the man's face, so that his breath tickled through his whiskers. He opened his mouth, lips soft against the man's cheek bone, and tasted his tears.

First with his tongue, and then with his teeth.

The man screamed, high and long as Sephiroth drew blood and ripped away a chunk of flesh.

Appetite whetted, Sephiroth slammed the hand on the man's belly down. The man's screaming stopped for a second as the air was forced from his lungs. Soon, though, he was screaming again, gurgling, strangled screams as Sephiroth's clawed hand tore open his belly. Warm blood pooled around Sephiroth's fingertips. He tore out a chunk of tender flesh, marbled with fat, and began to eat.

Blood slicked the floor under his knees, tangy and metallic on his palette. He savoured the contrast with the mellow flavour of the man's belly fat. With his other hand, he reached into the wound he'd made and felt up and around under the rib cage. He found the man's heart, its desperate pounding tickling over his skin. A purr started low in Sephiroth's chest at his prize. He cupped the heart in a loose, almost tender fist and wrenched it out through the belly wound.

The man fell silent. Good, Sephiroth nodded as he gnawed on the sinuous meat of his heart. That screaming had been annoying him.

* * *

When he woke up the next morning, Sephiroth was curled up, naked and streaked with dried blood, a short distance from most of the man's mangled corpse. He staggered to his feet and stumbled into his bathroom, not sparing a glance for the body spread all over his floor.

Someone, probably Jenova, had already sent someone in to draw a bath for him. The water smelled faintly of bergamot. He sank gratefully into it, up to his nose. Years ago, when he was younger, the morning after what Zack called _that time of the month_, he'd spend several hours fighting nausea and dry-heaving into the chamber pot. Now, his stomach barely protested. His mind was another matter.

On the other side of the bathroom door, someone cleaned up the evidence of the previous night. He sank deeper into his bath so that the water covered his head and he didn't have to hear the clatter of the man's bones and chains being taken away.


	3. Chapter 3

_Title: __**Fairytale**_

_Chapter: __**3/author not well organised enough to know how long this thing will be**_

_Characters: __**Pretty much everyone**_

_Pairings: __**Sephiroth/Cloud, Zack/Aerith, Tifa/Rude, mentions of Sephiroth/randoms and others as we encounter them**_

_Rating: __**R overall**_

_Summary: __**An angst-light fairytale about a cursed prince.**_

_Warnings: __**Yaoi, het, graphic violence, language, a cavalier attitude to historical accuracy, silliness and bloody Sephiroth being an angst muffin.**_

_A/N: __**Massive artistic license taken with FFVII world and its geography. Also, during that cross-dressing quest? Tifa and Aerith seem entirely too amused by it all.**_

* * *

Autumn was on the wane. Cloud shivered under one of Tifa's shawls; the sun was warm on his face but the wind cut like a sabre. He leaned his elbows on the ship's rail and swallowed heavily. Neither he nor Tifa had ever been so far from home, and they'd both been so excited to see the ocean for the first time. Cloud's excitement diminished rapidly when he experienced seasickness for the first time.

He breathed the sea breeze, slowly and deeply, as the mate had advised.

A week ago, Tifa's father received a response from the palace in Midgar. She was to be married to the Crowned Prince at midwinter. Cloud and his mother were the first in the village to hear; Tifa came to their house in tears and told them everything while Cloud's mother offered comforting cups of tea.

'Midwinter,' Cloud's mother said. She swirled the tealeaves in her cup. 'That's ... an inauspicious time for a wedding.'

Tifa sniffled where she lay curled into Cloud's side by the hearth. Cloud's mother gave her a soft look.

'I suppose the Prince is an unusual man,' she said, and said nothing more for the rest of the evening.

By the end of the following day, everyone in the village had heard of Tifa's engagement. A constant crowd of well-wishers and sycophants swarmed around Tifa and her father, and Cloud had to climb the ornamental willow outside her bedroom window to talk to her. While he waited for nightfall, when he could sneak in unnoticed, he took a slightly damp note from Tifa to her blacksmith. The young man responded stoically and with few words, but Cloud saw the hand that held Tifa's note trembled slightly.

Finally, the night before she was due to set out for Midgar arrived. Cloud hovered near his mother's workroom (really nothing more than a nook closed off from the main room by a heavy curtain), debating whether to ask her advice, and unsure what he'd ask. On his shoulder, he carried a satchel filled with spare clothes and his late father's hunting knife.

Eventually, he pushed aside the curtain to find his mother seated behind her worktable, hands folded in front of her as though she were waiting for him. She probably had been; Cloud's mother always knew what he'd do before he'd really made up his mind, but she always waited until he came to her. Sometimes it annoyed him. He suspected she knew _that_ too. In front of her folded hands was a handsomely carved cherry wood box, big enough to fit comfortably in Cloud's palm. Beside it was a square of undyed linen and a sewing needle.

Cloud's mother pushed the box toward him.

'For Tifa,' she said. 'An engagement present. Tell her not to open it until she's in the palace, and then only when she's alone.'

Cloud took the box and put it into his satchel wordlessly.

'You're planning on going with Tifa?' she said. Cloud nodded.

'She'll be alone, otherwise,' he said.

Cloud's mother nodded. 'I thought so,' she picked up the sewing needle and pricked her right thumb. A bright bead of blood quickly welled up, and she pressed it against the square of linen. 'Midgar is a dangerous place, the palace especially so. This is for you,' she handed him the blood-stained linen. 'A mother's blessing. Keep it with you at all times, and it will protect you.' She sucked on her abused thumb and watched as he tucked the charm into the neck of his shirt.

'Thank you,' Cloud said. He leaned across his mother's workbench to hug her. She wrapped her arms around him below his ribcage and squeezed him tightly, her chin resting on his shoulder.

As he went to pull away she whispered in his ear, 'You can save him.'

Cloud straightened and gave her a curious look. His mother smiled softly.

'Don't forget,' she said.

Cloud nodded and left his mother's house without looking back.

Tifa wasn't expecting him; he'd made the decision to come with her to Midgar just that day, after she'd told him that her father couldn't come with her. She'd seemed so lonely and frightened, his heart pained for her. He edged as close as he could to her window and tapped on the glass with his fingertips. Moments later, Tifa pushed up the sash so he could climb in. She gave him a watery smile.

'Come to say goodbye?' she said. Her voice was hoarse and slightly muffled.

Cloud dug in his satchel and pulled out the cherry wood box. 'Mother sent you this. It's an engagement present, but you can't open it 'til we get there.' Tifa tucked the box conscientiously into her luggage, cushioned by her gowns. She wiped her eyes.

'We?'

Cloud squared his shoulders and put on his best no-arguments face.

'I'm coming with you. I'll say I'm your valet.'

Tifa stared at him a moment, her eyes bright and wet. Then that watery smile was back, and she shook her head.

'That's kind of you, Cloud, but they won't let me bring anyone unless- ' she stopped, staring at him again, this time her look one of tentative excitement.

Cloud had a sudden presentiment of doom.

'Unless what?' he said.

'Unless they're a waiting maid!' Tifa said. She ran over to her armoire and rifled through it. Cloud watched, bemused and with a growing feeling of dread, as women's clothing sailed haphazardly to the floor behind her. 'Another woman would be allowed to come into the palace with me, and you'd be given a room near mine-'

'Tifa?'

'- probably have something that'll fit you, you're not very big, after all -'

"Tifa!'

Tifa looked around at him, a gown of pale yellow painted silk clutched to her chest.

'Hmm?'

Cloud chose his words carefully. 'You know I'd do anything for you,' she nodded and beamed prettily at him. He took a deep breath. 'I don't think I'd make a very good woman.'

Tifa waved a hand at him dismissively. 'Of course you would! I mean,' she elaborated as Cloud glared at her, 'you've got quite an androgynous face, and you're not bulky. _Svelte_, that's what you are. I think with a nice gown and maybe doing something with your hair you could manage.'

Cloud, whose hand had unconsciously flown to his ponytail, gave up at that point. People always said he looked like his mother, and that was when they were making an effort to be kind. Besides, it seemed Tifa had given a (slightly worrying) amount of thought to what he'd look like in a dress.

'What if someone comes into my room unexpectedly?' he said.

'As long as you don't take _all _your clothes off, you'll be fine. You can have one of my nightgowns,' Tifa turned back to the armoire, a thoughtful frown on her face. 'You'll need a shift as well, and a corset, a petticoat or two...'

She trailed off to mumbling as she rummaged. Cloud sank down on her bed, his satchel between his feet. He somehow doubted it would hold all the ..._things_ Tifa said he'd need.

The following morning saw Tifa and Cloud, one blushing, one teary and both sleep-rumpled at the early hour bumping along in a carriage that would carry them to the nearest port town. Having given Tifa her engagement gift and strapped his father's hunting knife to his thigh, Cloud had stuffed his satchel in the bottom of the trunk Tifa loaned him. She'd stolen it from that attic, 'at great personal risk', she informed him.

As the day wore on and they both became more aware, Tifa tried to explain to Cloud the complexities of women's clothing, etiquette and other feminine arcana she thought he'd need to know. Poor Cloud had thought the worst part was the corset Tifa insisted he wear. After three hours of lecturing, he saw that he was wrong.

Three days in the carriage and a further three on the ship found Cloud where he was now; shivering and sick on the deck while Tifa 'freshened up' in their cabin. He still wasn't clear on exactly what that meant, and was in no mood to think too deeply about it in his present state. It was strange, he thought, how differently everyone treated him now. Deferentially, but with a distinct note of condescension. It was beginning to grate on his nerves.

'Afternoon, miss.'

Cloud started and looked around to find the mate leaning against the railing by his elbow. That was something else he hated about being a woman; being _flirted_ with. It didn't seem to bother Tifa. She'd blush becomingly and demurely turn away their advances, without a hint of irritation. Cloud's flushes were mostly suppressed rage. He didn't want a hand up his skirt, and he _thought_ the aloof attitude he'd affected made that perfectly clear. What was wrong with these men?

'Good afternoon,' he replied, voice soft to hide its pitch.

'How are you this afternoon, miss? Are you feeling better?' The mate laid a solicitous hand on his elbow. Cloud managed not to grimace.

'Yes, thank you,' he said. 'Will we reach land soon?'

The mate thumbed the brim of his hat and looked out over the sea in a posture he obviously thought heroic.

'The winds are fair, miss. We should make land within the hour.'

For a moment, Cloud forgot his distaste for the mate and squinted out over the sea, trying to make out the vague shape of land on the western horizon. It was very pretty at this hour: the lowering sun tipped the waves in gold and turned the sky rose. He could almost forget how very ill it made him.

Almost.

An ominous gurgle was the only warning he received before he vomited again, black bile bitter on the back of his tongue. At least his illness got rid of the mate, who hurriedly made his excuses and left.

An hour, he thought weakly as the spasms stopped. Just one hour, and then he could pass out in an uncomfortable carriage, safely back on dry land.

Tifa hadn't slept at all on the last leg of their journey. When Cloud woke up from an exhaustion-induced sleep just before dawn, she was curled up in exactly the same position she had been in hours ago, chewing on her thumbnail. Her eyes were wide, the skin around them darkened. He stretched the stiffness out of his muscles and moved to sit beside her. Neither of them said a word as he wrapped his arms around her, rocking gently back and forth and muttering soothing nonsense. She clung to him like a limpet.

Eventually, Tifa fell asleep with her head buried in Cloud's shoulder. He rested his cheek on the top of her head, still murmuring occasionally as he watched the sky outside grow light. The countryside, slowly being revealed to him by the rising sun, was strange to him; flat and tamed, with gentle hills where the country he knew jutted aggressively, savage in its beauty. A pang of fear, the first he'd felt in a long time, ripped through his gut.

Carefully so as not to wake Tifa, he disentangled their clasped hands and brushed his fingertips over the bodice of his borrowed gown. He'd tucked the square of linen his mother gave him into it, beneath the neckcloth that hid his lack of breasts. The rough-woven fabric chafed against his chest, as comforting to him as the weight of his father's knife strapped to his thigh.

Tifa jerked restlessly in her sleep. Cloud rocked her and hummed a tune from home.

As the carriage passed through the gates of the city, he had what he suspected was a very stupid idea.

* * *

With his usual lack of respect for rank and breeding, Zack lounged on Sephiroth's bed, watching him button his waistcoat. Aerith sat beside him with more dignity but also with the garland of roses she'd threatened.

'Don't look at me like that,' she said when his eyes lingered on her flowers. _Yellow_, how he hated yellow now. 'They're for your fiancée.' She sniffed disapprovingly. 'Nobody _else_ seems inclined to make a welcoming gesture here.'

She was right: Sephiroth's brothers' attitudes toward his marriage ranged from indifference to contemptuous (and oddly focussed) disinterest. Sephiroth viewed the whole arrangement with mounting dread. And Jenova, despite being the one to order to the marriage in the first place, seemed ... _angry_ for some reason.

'I am,' said Zack. He looked Sephiroth up and down. 'You need to relax. You look like you've got a stick up your arse.' He grinned.

Aerith, feeling a double entendre coming on, interrupted him.

'I liked the other waistcoat,' she said. 'The red one. And you should tie your hair back.'

Sephiroth stared at her for a moment, before he stripped off his waistcoat - jade green and embroidered with silver - and exchanged it for the one Aerith preferred. It was a deep crimson, deeper than blood but brighter than wine. She nodded approvingly.

'Much better. Brings out the colour in your cheeks,' she said.

'He must be nervous,' said Zack. 'He took fashion advice from you.'

'At least she didn't recommend anything pink,' said Sephiroth. He shoved Zack's feet out his way, sat down on the end of his bed and began to braid his hair.

'What time is your fiancée supposed to get here?' Zack asked.

'Half past eleven,' said Sephiroth. 'Assuming fair weather on her journey.'

'Poor thing,' said Aerith. She watched Sephiroth's hands weave through his hair. 'Whose idea was it to make her come all alone? And all the way from the Eastern Continent?'

'Jenova's,' said Zack. 'Naturally.'

Sephiroth tied the end of his braid in place with a black velvet ribbon. 'The _Queen_,' he said 'felt that a woman from across the sea wouldn't have heard the rumours about the monster prince.'

Aerith and Zack traded a glance that Sephiroth couldn't decipher. Zack didn't like the Queen, which he understood, but Aerith treated her like a deadly snake. He'd asked Zack about it once, but his explanation didn't make any sense.

'Aerith's sensitive,' he'd said.

Sephiroth forced back his irritation. He stood, tossing his braided hair over his shoulder, shrugged on his jacket and quirked an eyebrow at Aerith.

'To your liking?' he asked.

'Very dashing,' she said. 'Are we allowed to come with you?'

Sephiroth mentally reviewed the protocol for such an occasion. Zack had often expressed envy that he could do so without having to consult a manual.

'Zackary could,' he said. 'As you're not married, you couldn't, though.'

Zack lazily threw an arm around her. 'We'll wait in your parlour, then,' he said. 'Once Her Majesty's through intimidating the poor girl no one's going to care about protocol, anyway.'

Sephiroth couldn't argue with that.

'Have you considered that I may want to get to know my fiancée without your interference?'

'Yes, but then we considered that you'd be lost without us,' Zack leapt to his feet and clapped Sephiroth on the shoulder. 'A fiancée is a little different from a one night stand, you know.'

'I _know_.'

'Just checking.'

As Sephiroth turned to leave, Aerith called out to him. 'Good luck! I'll leave the roses on the pillow, shall I?'

His fiancée was late by half an hour. It wouldn't have bothered him so much if he hadn't had to spend that half hour with his mother and brothers. _Especially_ his youngest brother.

Kadaj. Jealous, proud and spiteful Kadaj. At least he was being quiet today.

Jenova stood at Sephiroth's side, glittering in the sunlight. She was dressed as _the Queen_ today: majestic pale gold gown sweeping behind her and held up by two silent maids, diamond jewellery dripping from her throat, and a high collar framing her long neck and stern face. She did look intimidating, Sephiroth thought. She could probably crush a small person to death with the weight of the gown, too.

'I thought I asked you to wear the green waistcoat,' she said out of the corner of her mouth. The carriage carrying Sephiroth's fiancée had mercifully appeared at the palace gates. He followed its progress with his eyes, idly wondering who - and how many - was employed to keep it all so white. 'It does bring out your eyes.'

'I like this one,' he said.

'It looks stupid,' muttered Kadaj from behind him.

'_Kadaj_,' Jenova managed to growl, without moving her lips.

'Your opinion is noted,' said Sephiroth levelly. He heard Kadaj huff behind him, to his satisfaction.

The carriage halted at the foot of the stairway and a troop of servants flitted around it, unloading and hauling away trunks and helping two women step out. Both were small and had the unsteadiness of tread that came with long travel. They kept close together as they approached the royal family.

One was dark-haired and buxom, her skin creamy-pale and her hands delicate. Her gown was sapphire-blue silk, unembroidered and complimented with simple pearl jewellery. A neckcloth, apparently meant to draw attention away from her ample breasts, was rendered somewhat ineffective by a small pearl and sapphire brooch centred below her décolleté. She looked tired, her eyes rimmed with bruise-coloured smudges, but she held her chin high and steady.

The other had a more robust build: she wasn't big, but her shoulders were broad for a woman, and the bones of her wrists and hands weren't as fine as her companion's. Perhaps she was embarrassed about it. She kept her eyes - large and sky blue - lowered. Her - _yellow_ - dandelion coloured hair strained against the ornamental combs holding it in place, and a few tendrils brushed quite fascinatingly against the curve of her neck. Her gown was purple, trimmed in diaphanous white lace, and closed demurely over a fairly unimpressive bosom.

The pair curtseyed when they reached the top of the stairs, the fair one somewhat clumsily. Sephiroth heard Kadaj snigger behind him.

'Oh! Let us not stand on ceremony,' Jenova said. Sephiroth resisted the urge to stare at her disbelievingly. 'We _are_ most pleased to greet our son's new fiancée.' She paused. 'Which one of you is Lady Tifa?'

The fair one stepped forward abruptly, even as the dark one opened her mouth.

'I am,' she said. Her voice was quite deep, and she spoke softly. Behind her, the other woman gaped silently. She ignored her, and met Jenova's eyes unflinchingly.

Sephiroth was, despite himself, impressed.

'And your companion?' asked Jenova.

'My cousin. Vala.'

Sephiroth saw the dark girl mouth her name disbelievingly, before she apparently caught herself and snapped her jaw shut.

'Well. Welcome, my _dears_. We _do_ hope you will be comfortable here.' She lifted a bejewelled hand and gestured gracefully at her sons. Her rings clanked together. 'I am _sure_ you recognise Prince Sephiroth - ' Sephiroth inclined his head when the women glanced at him ' - and _these_ are my younger sons. Loz, Yazoo and Kadaj. You will doubtless find them _most _agreeable.'

The fair one - Tifa - glanced at Vala, who made a little flicking gesture with her fingers.

'Thank you, Your Majesty,' said Tifa, bowing low. She straightened up again hastily, a rather pretty blush in her cheeks.

'You are _most welcome_, my dear,' said Jenova, inclining her head gracefully. 'If you will excuse us, we will leave you in our son's capable hands.' She turned away with a great sweep of her skirts, her younger sons and a gaggle of attendants in her wake. The clinking of her jewellery receded down the hallway, leaving Sephiroth alone with the two women.

'If you'll follow me,' he said, gesturing courteously, 'I have refreshments waiting in my quarters.'

'Thank you,' said Tifa. She reached out and took Vala's hand as they followed him.

As they walked through the corridors to Sephiroth's quarters, he heard the women whispering together behind him.

'_What were you thinking?_' hissed one voice. Vala's, he thought.

'_You don't want to do it. This way you can go home and marry your blacksmith._'

'_Cloud... did you hit your head?_'

Cloud? A nickname, perhaps? It was none of his business, he supposed, if one woman was frightened to marry the monster prince and her friend decided to take her place. He didn't want to marry either of them. Maybe he'd force Kadaj to swap places with him and run away to join the circus as Zackary suggested.

He shook his head minutely and held the door of his outer chambers open, gesturing the two women through ahead of him.

'_Two_ fiancées! Honey, you were _so _wrong about Queen Jenova!'

It occurred to Sephiroth that he should probably warn people before introducing them to Zack.

'Please, sit down,' Sephiroth said, ignoring him. 'These are my friends, the Viscount Zackary Fair, and his fiancée Lady Aerith Gainsborough.'

'Isn't it cute, he used our titles and everything!' cooed Aerith.

Sephiroth sat on the couch across from them, beside Tifa - Cloud - _the fair haired one_ - with dignity. She shifted restlessly, glancing at him from the corner of her eye. He watched her hands - not inelegant, he decided, despite their unladylike coarseness - smoothing and folding the fabric of her skirt.

'So,' said Aerith brightly 'Which of you is Tifa?'

There was a quiet knock at the door, and a maid entered, carrying a tray loaded with tea and dainties. Her shoes made no sound over the floors.

'I am,' said the fair haired woman. She watched as the maid set the tea tray on a lacquered table between the two couches. 'This is my cousin Vala. She's ... on her way to be married too.'

The maid dropped a curtsey toward Sephiroth and handed him a sealed envelope. He dismissed her with a wave of his hand.

'Who are you marrying?' asked Aerith. 'Do they live far away?'

Sephiroth slit open the envelope. He could feel Zack's eyes on him.

'Um, yes,' said the dark-haired woman. 'He's... he's the third son of a lord.' She blushed hotly as she spoke, glancing constantly at her companion.

'Good luck,' said Aerith. She smiled warmly and poured herself a cup of tea, gesturing for Tifa-or-Cloud and Vala-or-not to do the same.

Sephiroth sighed and handed the letter and envelope to Zack.

'Her Majesty, mother, requests an audience with my fiancée and I,' he said, at Aerith's questioning glance. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Vala-or-not grab Tifa-or-Cloud's hand.

Aerith frowned and stirred her tea. 'Requests?'

'Demands,' Zack threw the letter onto the coffee table. 'Is she going to discuss ...that?'

'That?' echoed Tifa-or-Cloud. She and Vala-or-not traded a worried glance.

'I'd hope not,' said Sephiroth. 'Tonight I ... have other duties to attend to.'

Zack's mouth pressed into a straight line. Aerith bit her lip and took Zack's hand.

'I don't like this,' she said.

She spent the rest of the afternoon uncommonly drawn, chewing on her lower lip.

* * *

_I have to say this, or it's going to eat at me: the term corset wasn't used until the 19__th__ century. In the 18__th__ century, when this story is set, the garment in question was referred to as "stays", and was designed to give the torso an almost triangular shape. Most women didn't lace them tightly; rather, they used them for support and to give them a fashionable posture. Corsets/stays designed for a female figure differ considerably than a male corset, and would be brutally uncomfortable for a man to wear._


	4. Chapter 4

_Title: __**Fairytale**_

_Chapter: __**4/author not well organised enough to know how long this thing will be**_

_Characters: __**Pretty much everyone**_

_Pairings: __**Sephiroth/Cloud, Zack/Aerith, Tifa/Rude, mentions of Sephiroth/randoms and others as we encounter them**_

_Rating: __**R overall**_

_Summary: __**An angst-light fairytale about a cursed prince.**_

_Warnings: __**Yaoi, het, graphic violence, language, a cavalier attitude to historical accuracy, silliness and bloody Sephiroth being an angst muffin. Oh, and slightly weird romance.**_

_A/N: __**I'm so. Sorry. For the late update. Real life happened, and then Cloud read ahead in the script and went on strike. Apparently he feels he's had quite enough abuse from me, thank you. Also, writing from Cloud's perspective is annoying at the moment. He's all respectful and terrified.**_

Sephiroth and Cloud's audience with the Queen was at sunset, which gave Cloud plenty of time to worry. Every little mistake he'd made during the course of the afternoon stood out painfully to him: every fumbled curtsey and every tenor-voiced phrase, until he was certain the Prince and his friends _knew_ he was a man.

Lady Aerith and Viscount Fair's visit lasted the whole afternoon, and if he'd been less certain he'd be executed before the day was over, Cloud thought he'd have liked them. They almost managed to dispel the taught atmosphere in Prince Sephiroth's parlour. Their good humour more than made up for Cloud's nervous silence and the reticent Prince at Cloud's side. Tifa was soon engaged in a lively conversation with Lady Aerith, fears apparently forgotten: it seemed that she had far more trust in Cloud than he did in himself.

For his part, Cloud spoke only when he was spoken to; nursing the tea Prince Sephiroth courteously offered him. He kept his eyes lowered, hoping to come over as shy, while he sneaked glances around the room (and any way out of it) from beneath his lashes. The room wasn't exactly secure, Sephiroth's reputation as a dangerous monster being more than sufficient to deter thieves or assassins, but the corridors outside were full of armed guards, servants, and probably other members of the royal family. Climbing out the windows wasn't an option; anyone abseiling down the palace walls was bound to be noticed and the Prince's rooms were too high up anyway. Perhaps if he could convince Tifa to make her excuses and leave while he was visiting with the Queen...? His plan had been to buy her time to run away, but he'd hoped not to be found out until the wedding night, at least. Maybe he'd been too optimistic. Not for the first, or the last, time that afternoon, he cursed himself.

As sunset approached, Cloud's stomach tied itself into ever tighter knots. When his hands began to shake, he set his undrunk tea on the coffee table, almost slopping it over Sephiroth's lap. _Because I'm not in enough trouble_, he thought. A pair of long-fingered hands, intricately patterned with a thousand pale scars, steadied him about the wrists - the Prince's hands where cold, with sweaty palms, he noticed - and he flinched. The teacup chimed like a bell as it hit the floor and broke in two.

'I'm sorry!' he said. His voice came out as a rather embarrassing squeak and his mouth kept going, after his brain told it to stop. 'I'll pay for it, I promise!'

Prince Sephiroth quirked an eyebrow at him, and he could feel the blush spreading to his ears. At least blushing was ladylike.

'That won't be necessary,' he said.

After that, Cloud decided keeping quiet wasn't enough. He should sit still, too.

Too soon, Prince Sephiroth offered him his arm and led him through corridors and up two flights of stairs to the Queen's chambers. He followed meekly, too worried to look around or memorise the route they took. In what seemed like an instant, they stood in the Queen's presence.

Where in the corridors Cloud had been numb with apprehension, now he felt hyper-aware: something about Queen Jenova awakened every one of his nerves. A witch's son had a fragment of her power, after all. His muscles tightened, ready to fight or run away.

Cloud's first impression of the Queen's chambers was of a winter's night. The windows were covered in heavy blue drapery, no fire burned in the grate and the few candles that lit the room flickered weakly, seeming somehow _paler_ than normal flames. It was terribly cold, colder than the warmth of the corridor outside or the candlelight should permit. A few straight- backed ebon chairs, carved with weird figures, were arranged in front of the cold fireplace. The room was heavy with the smell expensive perfume, obviously intended to cover another, more unpleasant scent. Acid and copper. Cloud shivered. The hand that still rested on Prince Sephiroth's arm clenched until the knuckles were white. Cloud didn't notice until he felt the Prince prying them loose.

The Queen sat in one of the chairs, an open book on her lap. She'd changed her gown to a less formal one, all flowing lines and silvery embroidery, her hair released from its elaborate style to fall gracefully over one shoulder. She'd kept her jewellery and replaced her crown with a circlet. Prince Sephiroth led Cloud to sit in the chairs facing her.

'My darling,' Queen Jenova reached up to embrace him, her jewellery sparkling like ice. The Prince returned her embrace stiffly and returned to his seat. 'And your lovely fiancée. I do hope you have enjoyed each other's company.' She marked her place and set the book aside. Cloud glanced at its title. Something written in a language from the far north.

'What is your intention, mother?' asked Prince Sephiroth. 'I have urgent business this evening.' His expression remained neutral, but his tone took on an edge. 'As I'm sure you're aware.'

'Of course, my darling,' Queen Jenova smiled and Cloud wanted to leave right then. 'That has everything to do with my _intention_.' She folded her hands in her lap. 'No doubt Lady Tifa is aware of certain... rumours concerning you.'

Cloud noticed her looking at him expectantly.

'There are... many rumours concerning the Western Continent in the East, Your Majesty' he said carefully. 'We - that is, my people - tend to ignore the more... lurid of them.'

'As I would expect,' said Queen Jenova. 'Unfortunately, rumours begin when one is not open about one's private life. No mother wants her sons thrust into the public eye, as I'm sure you understand. We value our privacy, my dear.'

'I understand.'

'If that is all, mother -'

'It isn't,' Queen Jenova waved Prince Sephiroth into silence and returned her attention to Cloud. There was something wrong with her eyes, though Cloud couldn't decide what. It was slowly terrifying him. 'You understand a mother's heart, my dear, don't you? I must ensure you're worthy of my son.'

Prince Sephiroth frowned and leaned forward in his seat. 'Worthy? This marriage was your idea, and Lady Tifa was your choice in fiancée.'

'Yes,' Jenova didn't take her gaze from Cloud's face. 'But one can hardly know a... woman's character without having known _her_, can one?' She paused and the silence made Cloud feel ill. 'So, just to set my mind at ease, I want Lady Tifa to perform three tests.'

'This is ridiculous -'

'Sephiroth,' Queen Jenova's voice took on a hard edge, and the Prince subsided, chastened. 'Would you really leave me to worry, my darling? All I want is for you to be happy and well. That is what Lady Tifa wants for you too, isn't it, my dear?'

'...Yes, Your Majesty,' Cloud found himself unable to look away from the Queen's terrible eyes, and his voice came out as little more than a whisper.

'Good,' that smile was back and Cloud's hands began to shake again. He clenched them in the folds of his skirt. 'The first test will be tonight, then. All I want you to do, my dear, is spend a night in the Prince's room.'

'Mother - !' Prince Sephiroth's voice held a genuine note of panic now. Cloud managed to break away from Queen Jenova's gaze to look at him. He'd gone quite pale. 'That is -'

'If the young lady is worthy, it won't be a problem, my darling,' Queen Jenova reached out and patted Prince Sephiroth's hand where it clenched the arm of his chair. 'And if not... it's hardly a loss, is it?'

Cloud's presentiment of doom returned with a vengeance; what was so wrong with spending a night in the Prince's room? He couldn't be worried for his reputation, could he?

_You're spending the night with the monster prince_ said a dark voice in his head. He could hear Queen Jenova convincing the Prince with honeyed words and maternal caresses, but he paid them no attention. Instead, he concentrated on the weight of his father's knife against his leg and the whisper-soft chafe of his mother's blessing against his chest. _I'll be alright_, he told the dark voice in his head. _I'll think of something_.

* * *

After leaving the Queen's chambers, Cloud followed Prince Sephiroth back downstairs, to where Lady Aerith, Viscount Fair and Tifa still waited in the Prince's parlour. Neither of them spoke; Cloud was too busy worrying how he'd survive the night if it turned out the legends of the monster prince _did_ turn out to be true. Prince Sephiroth had composed himself somewhat, but his face still bore the signs of distress. Cloud wondered, briefly, what he was thinking. The Prince had offered him his arm again - out of habit more than anything else, Cloud was certain - and Cloud could feel his muscles jumping beneath his clothes. It reminded him a little of a cat he'd once watched stalking a mouse; it lay with its belly against the ground, completely still, then its muscles twitched beneath its skin and it pounced...

The parlour door opened silently, but apparently Tifa had been waiting: she collided with Cloud, pulling him into a bruising hug as soon as he crossed the threshold.

'Are you alright?' she whispered. Cloud patted her shoulder comfortingly, glad he'd stopped shivering.

'Survived?' said Viscount Fair lightly. He took in the expression on Prince Sephiroth's face and his brows drew together. 'What's wrong? What did she say?'

'Zackary, would you and Aerith take care of Mademoiselle Vala this evening?' Prince Sephiroth said. He glanced back at Cloud. 'Would you consent to that?'

Cloud nodded, his chin bumping against Tifa's shoulder. Lady Aerith and Viscount Fair seemed kind and if his luck held their residence wasn't in the palace. Perhaps he could give Tifa some kind of signal to escape. He tightened his arms around her, just for a second.

'What's going on, Sephiroth?' said Viscount Fair.

Prince Sephiroth glanced over Viscount Fair's shoulder at Lady Aerith. 'Perhaps Mademoiselle Vala should retire for the evening. Aerith, will you see to her? I will send Zackary along in a moment.'

Very gently, Cloud pushed Tifa away from him. Her eyes were round and bright with worry, her lips pressed together until they turned white. Cloud bumped his forehead against hers.

'Go with Lady Aerith,' he whispered. 'If - if you don't hear from me, I want you to run away.' Tifa nodded, and Cloud kissed her cheek. 'Goodbye.'

Lady Aerith had been waiting a discrete distance from them; when Cloud stepped away from Tifa she came forward and gently took her by the elbow. She nodded to Cloud, concern in every line of her face.

'It was a pleasure meeting you, Lady Tifa,' she said. Cloud didn't like how solemn she'd suddenly become, as if he was about to go into a dragon's den. 'Good luck.'

With that - the least comforting gesture of good will Cloud had ever experienced - Lady Aerith led Tifa firmly away. The door clicked softly behind them.

Viscount Fair cleared his throat.

'Queen Jenova has ordered that Lady Tifa spend the night in my room,' Prince Sephiroth said. His voice held no inflection, and he stared stonily into the fire as he spoke. The only movement from him was the occasional disconcerting jump off his muscles, barely noticeable beneath his jacket and breeches.

Viscount Fair just gaped. Eventually, he began making odd strangled noises.

'_Tonight_?' he managed to choke. 'She wants to put some poor little girl in your room, with you, tonight?'

'Yes.'

'What the _fuck_ is wrong with her?' Viscount Fair spun on his heel and began pacing back and forth, gesturing wildly. Cloud scuttled out his way, taking refuge at Prince Sephiroth's elbow. He felt the Prince subtly shift away from him. 'Your mother - that - _what the fuck is she thinking_?'

Viscount Fair continued to rave with ever increasing volume and profanity. Prince Sephiroth seemed content, for the moment, to let him go. Perhaps he was similarly distracted. Watching the apparently good-humoured Viscount rage ratcheted Cloud's fear even higher. He thought he might be ill; his stomach was knotted so tightly. Quite suddenly, Viscount Fair whirled on Cloud, grasped him firmly by the shoulders and bent down so that they were on eye level. In spite of himself, Cloud felt a ripple of irritation at the gesture.

'You didn't agree, did you?' Viscount Fair said wildly. 'There's - it compromises your womanly virtues, doesn't it? You could refuse for the sake of your reputation, couldn't you?'

Cloud stepped backward out of his hold.

'Are the rumours true, then?' he asked. He was quietly impressed with how calm his voice sounded. 'About the monster prince?'

'Sephiroth isn't a monster!' Viscount Fair said severely, indignation in every line of his form. 'It's hardly his fault he's -'

'Zackary,' said Prince Sephiroth. He finally looked away from the fire. Viscount Fair subsided, looking a little sheepish.

'I'm sorry,' he said. 'I didn't mean to yell at you, I just - ' He ran a hand through his hair. It sprang stubbornly back into place. 'This isn't right.' He folded his arms and pursed his lips, fury apparently spent for the moment.

'Indeed,' Prince Sephiroth bowed his head. 'I apologise, Mademoiselle.'

'I - what for?' asked Cloud. Prince Sephiroth quirked an eyebrow at him, the briefest twitch of candid expression.

'I hid my ...condition from you. Perhaps, if I had told you the truth sooner, you wouldn't be in the danger you are now.'

Cloud gulped. Well. That was thoughtful of the Prince, if entirely unhelpful. He supposed, if he was going to die tonight anyway...

'I - I haven't been honest either,' he said. 'I'm, um. I'm not Tifa. I'm not a woman.'

'Huh?' That was Viscount Fair.

Cloud took a deep breath and an inexplicable half grin grew on his lips. 'I'm not a woman. Vala's the real Tifa.' Neither Prince Sephiroth nor Viscount Fair said anything, and neither of them reached for any weaponry, so Cloud kept talking. 'My real name is Cloud Strife; I'm a peasant from the same village as Tifa. We've been friends since we were children.' He made a weak gesture with his hands, not even sure himself what he intended to communicate with it. 'I... just didn't want her to have to come here alone.'

Silence. Cloud could hear the fire crackling in the grate, the faint sounds of night birds calling, the terrified rhythm of his heart. He consoled himself - _what consolation!_ - that at least if Prince Sephiroth ran him through now he wouldn't be eaten. It was odd he thought abstractedly, how normally the silence never bothered him. Now he couldn't stand it; it was forcing his tongue.

'I know it's an insult to you, Your Highness,' he said. 'I understand that I'll be punished but I beg you, please let Tifa - the, um, the real one, that is - let her go. This wasn't her idea and - and she shouldn't have to suffer for my actions. So -'

'You're a man,' Viscount Fair interrupted him. He stared at Cloud's chest with such focus that Cloud suddenly felt the need to cover himself. Instead he half turned away toward Prince Sephiroth. He stared too, mouth set in a dispiritingly unimpressed line.

'Zackary,' Prince Sephiroth said. He took Cloud by the elbow. _Oh God, he's going to kill me_. 'Please lock the door to my room. Take the key with you and return at dawn. Do you understand?'

'What?' Viscount Fair dragged his gaze from Cloud to Prince Sephiroth. 'You're not - you're actually going to go through with that stupid - !'

'Yes, Zackary. It was the Queen's order,' he turned and marched further into his private chambers, an unresisting Cloud in tow. At the threshold of his bedroom, he paused and looked back at Viscount Fair. 'Keep Lady Tifa - the _real_ one - safe.'

Viscount Fair nodded, thin-lipped. He took a key from an ornate little box on the mantelpiece, which he gripped in a white-knuckled hand.

Cloud caught his eye and whispered 'Thank you'.

Viscount Fair nodded gravely to him. Then the Prince closed the door, and Cloud heard the lock snick into place.

He was alone with the monster prince.

Whom he'd just insulted.

He clenched his mother's blessing through the bodice of his gown and wondered how it was going to save him from this.

Somewhere in the last minute, he'd gone from mortally afraid to a kind of numbness. It wasn't exactly a relief - he felt as though he balanced on the edge of a precipice, with a sheer drop into complete hysteria right below him - but it was letting him think a little more clearly. Behind him, he heard fabric rustling. Prince Sephiroth had removed his jacket and thrown it over the end of the bed. He looked angry, but then, he'd looked mildly irritated all day, now that Cloud thought of it.

'While I understand that your intentions were honourable,' the Prince said as his fingers fumbled over his waistcoat buttons. 'You have deceived me, and that I won't tolerate.'

'You're going to eat me,' said Cloud flatly. He wondered where the words were coming from, then decided it was too late for tact anyway. 'I think that makes us even, don't you?'

Prince Sephiroth turned away, still struggling with the buttons on his waistcoat. Cloud hung back near the door and watched him warily. Finally, he couldn't stand it anymore.

'Let me do it,' he said. He batted the Prince's hands away, as if he where tying a child's bootlaces, and helped him shrug out of his waistcoat. He glanced around the room, exquisitely appointed in green drapery and mahogany furnishings. 'That door behind us...?'

'To an en suite,' Prince Sephiroth nodded his thanks to him and untied his neckerchief. He discarded it on the bed. 'It doesn't lock, if that's what you're hoping. You might as well make yourself at home.'

Cloud nodded. He sat gingerly on the bed, bouncing slightly on the firm mattress. The coverlet was wrinkled as though someone had lain on it and a spray of yellow roses and cornflowers rested on the pillow. He stroked a curled rose petal with a fingertip.

'You should put these in water,' he said. The mattress dipped as Prince Sephiroth sat and began removing his boots. 'It'd be a shame if they wilted.' He glanced at the Prince: his brow was furrowed as he struggled with his boots, his jaw was clenched. 'Are you...?'

'I don't want to kill you,' Prince Sephiroth managed to remove his boot and tossed it into a corner. 'I don't take pleasure in murdering people and - ' He snarled and wrenched off the other boot, flinging it away. Cloud flinched. 'But I can't - ' suddenly he was facing Cloud. His eyes were as terrible as the Queen's. 'Don't stay near me. It'll only get worse from here.'

'What do you - ?'

'_Move_.'

Prince Sephiroth lunged forward as he spoke, pushing Cloud, who tumbled off the bed. Tangled in his skirts, he rolled under the bed and lay completely still. He watched as the Prince's bare feet padded over the floor. Pacing, growling, like a great, furious cat. Unarmed but for tooth and claw, but far stronger than a mortal man. Cloud fumbled under his shift for his father's hunting knife. The rustling of his skirts rang far too loud in his ears, every halting breath like a hurricane. Slowly, he pulled the knife from its sheath and clutched it in a shaking fist, knuckles down on the floor in front of his face.

He'd never fought a person before. He'd killed rabbits, and foxes, and once he'd fought off a wolf, but never a person. He pressed his lips together. Maybe if he just stayed under the bed? Perhaps if Prince Sephiroth couldn't see him -

A hand clenched around his ankle. The fingers dug into his flesh and _pulled_. Cloud stabbed the hunting knife into the floor and held on. A frustrated growl and the grip on his ankle tightened: he felt the bone _bend_ - Cloud yelped and lashed out with his other foot, connected with a wiry arm. Another growl from behind him, and the painful grip eased enough that he broke free. He yanked the knife free of the floor and scrambled out from under the bed.

At the first sign of movement above him, he rolled, once, twice, and stumbled upright. He staggered - his ankle didn't want his weight - and sagged against the nearest wall. He whirled around, eyes darting around the room.

The Prince crouched on the floor beside the bed, far too close for Cloud's liking. He shuffled sideways, mindful of his protesting ankle, the knife held steadily out in front of him. Prince Sephiroth's eyes followed him, though he didn't move. Cloud's hip bumped against a desk. He glanced at it, too afraid to take his eyes off Prince Sephiroth for long. He was afraid to even blink. The Prince's muscles twitched again, barely perceptible beneath his shirt.

He pounced.

Cloud flung himself over the desk. He rolled, strewing papers over the floor in his wake. Landed on both feet. Pain blasted through his ankle, but he ignored it. He ran. Behind him, he could hear the Prince's - growling? No, more like a purr. He fell against the opposite wall and used his momentum to push himself in another direction. Maybe he was over thinking this, but it seemed that the monster prince - _sorry, Viscount Fair_, he thought as he threw himself past a recliner and pushed it backward into the Prince's path - seemed to be _enjoying _this. Cloud wasn't particularly agile in his gown. Prince Sephiroth would just let him run around blindly until he couldn't run anymore and then...

It'd been a long day, and Cloud was travel weary. He collapsed against another wall, beside an end table with an elaborate floral arrangement, panting. He couldn't do this all night. The Prince knew he was tiring. He stalked closer, his gait suddenly more animal than man. He was moving in for the kill. Cloud's chest heaved. He frantically reviewed what he knew about wild animals, the only thing he could think of to which he could compare the Prince. Predators. Opportunistic, generally: more inclined to pick off weakened prey. Perhaps if he put up a fight the Prince would give up.

He grabbed the vase from the end table and threw it, as hard he could, at Prince Sephiroth's head. The Prince ducked. The vase flew over his head, showering him with water and a few stray blossoms. He snarled. Cloud didn't pause. He grabbed the end table, gritted his teeth and heaved it at the Prince too. As soon as he let go of the end table, he ran. There was a howl of rage and pain: the Prince hadn't dodged.

And now Cloud was out of ornaments to throw. He cursed the Prince's aesthetic sensibilities.

Something crashed into him. The Prince. His greater weight bore Cloud to the floor, forcing the air from his lungs. Though winded, Cloud managed to flip over and thrust his knife blindly forward. A snarl and hands grappling with his. One wrist pinned to the floor, Cloud snarled back. He writhed and kicked, blinded by a curtain of the Prince's hair. Hopefully, a small part of him thought, the Prince couldn't see him either.

A clawed hand caught his throat. Cloud choked. Prince Sephiroth shook his hair aside. Their eyes met. The Prince's lips were drawn back from his teeth. There was a long slash on his right shoulder. It bled sluggishly, stained the torn edged of his shirt. He growled, low and warning. Cloud concentrated on breathing past the grip at his throat. He let the hand that held the knife drop to the floor, but he didn't let go of the hilt. Prince Sephiroth stared at him, unblinking. Cloud stared back. There was no way out, he thought. Prince Sephiroth leaned toward his face, very slowly, his eyes fixed on a point just below Cloud's chin. An artery: Cloud could feel his own pulse fluttering against the Prince's restraining hand.

The Prince was much stronger and faster than he was. He couldn't fight him off or run from him.

The Prince wanted - _needed_ - to eat the flesh of another human being. That's what the stories said, wasn't it? Prince Sephiroth lowered himself onto his elbows, still gripping Cloud's neck and wrist.

Cloud tightened his hold on the hunting knife. Now would be a perfect time to attack. A stab to the side of the neck while Prince Sephiroth was preoccupied. Cloud shifted as much as he dared, tensed his arm -

He didn't want to. He wasn't a murderer.

Viscount Fair said so: Prince Sephiroth wasn't a monster. How much of the rumour was true? It was just a curse, wasn't it? And if that was true, Cloud thought, there had to be a way to break it. Or at least get around it.

_The story doesn't say he has to kill anyone_, Cloud thought, while the other half of his mind raged at him. _Who thinks about this when they're about to be eaten? Stab him, you idiot!_

Very slowly, Cloud raised the hunting knife. Prince Sephiroth obviously wasn't as preoccupied as Cloud thought. He reared up, mouth twisted in another snarl. Cloud paused.

'It's - it's alright,' he said. He wondered if the Prince could even understand him anymore. 'I won't hurt you...'

The Prince didn't move. Cloud took that as a positive sign and raised the hunting knife a little higher. Prince Sephiroth's hand tightened against his throat. Cloud gave a strangled gasp.

'It's alright,' he said again. His voice was hoarse. 'Look.'

With clumsy movements, he turned the knife in his hand, so that the blade pressed against the pad of his index fingertip, with his thumb on the hilt. Then, as though he were cutting a slice from an apple, he sliced the flesh from the end of his finger.

Cloud grimaced and sucked his breath through clenched teeth. He slid the portion of his fingertip from the blade and held out his maimed hand to Prince Sephiroth, letting the hunting knife fall to the floor. His hand quaked as the Prince examined it. Hot blood dribbled slowly over his hand and dripped onto the bodice of his borrowed gown.

Finally, Prince Sephiroth almost daintily ate the slice of flesh. He released Cloud's wrist and neck, and a purr started low in his chest. Cloud was - well. He couldn't honestly say surprised. He didn't think anything would surprise him after tonight. All the tension drained from his muscles in relief, and he lay boneless beneath the Prince, who had begun, quite contentedly, to lick the blood from his hand. He sighed. Carefully, so as not to startle him, Cloud struggled into sitting position.

'I wish I'd thought of this sooner,' he said.

The Prince looked at him for a moment, and then bit his middle finger. Cloud yelped and yanked his hand back. Prince Sephiroth wouldn't let go and rumbled at him.

'You're still hungry,' he said. 'You have to let my hand go if you want more.'

Prince Sephiroth gave him a decidedly petulant look and released his hand. Once more, Cloud wondered how much he understood when he was like this. If any of the Prince's consciousness remained or - He shook his head. He was too tired for that.

Moving as quickly as he dared, Cloud shuffled backward, retrieving his hunting knife as he went. Without breaking eye contact with Prince Sephiroth, he stood, cautiously, and walked backward. The Prince shifted his stance to pounce. Cloud made what he hoped was a soothing noise.

'It's alright,' he said. 'I'm going to sit on the bed. You come too.'

He held out his uninjured hand, palm up, and continued backward until the backs of his legs hit the edge of the bed. He sank down, slowly, and rested his back against the headboard. Equally slowly, he lifted his feet. The Prince watched him settle, before he climbed over Cloud and settled on the other side of the bed. Cloud smiled at him, shakily.

'See? I'm not going away.' As he spoke, he pressed the blade against his hand again. His index finger still bled steadily, and he trembled, dreading the pain. Still, he cleanly sliced off the pad of his middle finger, and offered it to Prince Sephiroth.

As soon as the Prince had eaten that portion, he took his hand back and said, as firmly as he could:

'One more, then that's all for tonight. Understand?' He held the Prince's gaze with his sternest expression.

Prince Sephiroth blinked, and Cloud cut off the pad of his ring finger. This time, he couldn't hold back a small cry of pain. He dropped the knife onto the coverlet at his side, and held his hand out for the Prince. The purring was back, louder than before. Cloud let his head flop backward against the headboard. He closed his eyes, light headed with relief and blood loss, as Prince Sephiroth lapped the blood from his aching fingertips. After a while, the Prince laid his head on Cloud's thigh. His purring slowly quieted, his head grew heavier, and his breathing deepened with sleep.

Cloud sighed. All he wanted now was to go to sleep. No sooner had he thought that, though, than he realised how very tenuous his situation was. It was hours until dawn. What if Prince Sephiroth decided to eat him anyway? He had to stay awake. Had to.

With a great effort, he lifted his head and opened his eyes. Prince Sephiroth's head rested high on his right thigh, heavy and warm, his breath stirring the stray hairs over his face. He still held Cloud's mutilated and bleeding hand, though his grip was slack in sleep. Cloud's thoughts were coming slowly, through a veil of drowsiness, so it was several minutes before he decided he should probably bandage his hand. Infection was something he'd worry about if he was still alive in the morning. Carefully, he pulled his hand out of Prince Sephiroth's, cradled it against his chest. A one-handed struggle with the hunting knife and his shift later, and he had a few entirely inadequate strips of linen. He wrapped them around his fingertips and knotted them as best he could. He let his hand fall to his side.

It rustled. Cloud looked to his side. There was the spray of roses and cornflowers, somehow still mostly intact. He smiled at it, rubbed his thumb over the rounded edges of the petals. The flowers were already wilting, but they were still pretty, and they reminded him a little of his mother. It was oddly comforting, so he left his injured hand where it lay among the flowers.

Cloud watched Prince Sephiroth sleep through heavy-lidded eyes. Most of the Prince's face was veiled by his hair. Cloud brushed it away with his uninjured hand. It was very fine, like spider-silk. Apparently Prince Sephiroth had appreciated the brush of Cloud's hand: he turned his face into Cloud's palm and gently squeezed his leg. If it meant the Prince was less inclined to wake up and eat him, Cloud was more than willing to continue his ministrations. Besides, he found he rather enjoyed touching the Prince. In his exhausted delirium, it reminded him of stroking a very large cat.

The skin of Prince Sephiroth's face was smooth under his fingertips. Not like a woman's, though. Cloud had been with women - not often: it was all fumbling moments, summertime trysts with one-time lovers. The Prince's skin didn't have the cultivated softness of a woman's. His features were stronger, too, the lines of his nose and brow stern and noble. With the lightest touch he could manage, Cloud traced over the slender bow of Prince Sephiroth's lips. He'd only seen them set in a firm line or thinned in consternation so far. Relaxed in sleep, they were almost artistic; all graceful lines and chiselled planes. Cloud had never considered another man's face so intently. If he hadn't been so tired, Cloud imagined he'd be appalled at the liberties he was taking. At that moment, he couldn't muster the will for it, and instead let his mind wander into a rather pleasant fantasy of what those lips might feel like against his own.


	5. Chapter 5

_Title: __**Fairytale**_

_Chapter: __**5/author not well organised enough to know how long this thing will be**_

_Characters: __**Everyone I can think of a role for**_

_Pairings: __**Sephiroth/Cloud, Zack/Aerith, Tifa/Rude, mentions of Sephiroth/randoms and others as we encounter them**_

_Rating: __**R overall**_

_Summary: __**An angst-light fairytale about a cursed prince.**_

_Warnings: __**Yaoi, het, violence, language, a cavalier attitude to historical accuracy, silliness and bloody Sephiroth being an angst muffin.**_

_A/N: __**Gah. Just, gah. I'm sorry about how late this chapter is. There's the usual excuses about job hunting and family drama and a borked computer and an apparently interminable TAFE course. Plus, to apply for jobs I need a portfolio, which I have, but I hate it, so I'm trying to come up with new things. Anyway, rambling aside, anyone who's still reading this ...creation, thanks for your patience!**_

_**I'm hoping to move the plot forward this chapter: Sephiroth's had time to observe and be impressed with Cloud (or at least his loyalty to his friends), but Cloud's only really thought **_

_**"ooh, shiny" after experiencing blood loss. Plus there's that second test thing.**_

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That night, the Queen had a nightmare.

She watched her own beheading on a frozen altar. The slash of a shining blade. The blood spilt, wine-dark, over snow and ice. Steam rose in its wake before it froze, and days and weeks buried it under more ice until there wasn't a trace of her blood, her _life_ left. She watched shining people bury her body beneath lead and stone and earth, and saw her head frozen in the northern seas.

All the while, she was trapped in the earth, choking on living soil.

Sephiroth woke earlier than usual, the taste of blood thick on his tongue. He woke up sluggishly, from a deep and bone-weary sleep. At first he thought he'd just drift off again; he could tell without opening his eyes that it wasn't quite dawn yet. He could hear the birds beginning to sing outside his window, though, and the noise distracted him. He frowned and pushed his cheek into his firm pillow, trying to ignore the - Firm? His pillows were stuffed with goose feathers. Awareness still hovered just beyond his reach, but Sephiroth knew that much.

And his pillow covers were made of fine cotton, not silk. He opened his eyes. They certainly weren't _purple_, either. A vague (and rather pleasing) thought about the feel of Cloud's thigh under his hand drifted through Sephiroth's sleep addled brain.

_Cloud_. Sephiroth whipped his head around. He remembered the night before, could always remember what he did as the monster prince, even though he controlled none of it. It was like being captive in his own head, forced to watch himself do terrible things, things far worse than he'd ever done in battle. Thankfully, Cloud slept quite peacefully, nestled into the spray of roses Aerith left the day before. One hand, its fingers wrapped in bloodstained rags, curled up endearingly beside his parted lips. Sephiroth felt something warm uncurl in his chest. Quite a pleasant, if somewhat unusual sensation. But that was a mystery for later.

That hand needed attention, he thought. The rags were still sticky with fresh blood. Rather gingerly, he reached for Cloud's shoulder. He was careful to remain at arm's length, so as not to startle him, and called his name.

Cloud jerked awake, his uninjured hand immediately groping for the hunting knife on his other side. Sephiroth hastily withdrew, both hands raised to shoulder height in an attitude of surrender.

'It's alright,' he said. 'It's morning, I won't hurt you.' He waited until Cloud put the knife back down before he shuffled closer again. 'Let me look at your hand.'

'My...?' Cloud glanced at his fingers, still curled in front of his face. He blinked. 'Oh. I did that.' He struggled to sit up, hindered somewhat by his injured hand and the spray of flowers. His hair had escaped its ornaments during the night and become entangled. Sephiroth helped him free himself, picking at the tangle with his fingertips.

When he'd settled himself with his back propped against the headboard - several rose petals and cornflowers still raveled in his hair - Cloud wordlessly held out his hand. His face was pale with fatigue, but his expression remained sharp and wary. Sephiroth began unpicking the makeshift bandages, taking special care not to jostle Cloud's fingers. It gave him an excuse not to meet Cloud's eyes. He was grateful for it.

'I apologise for this,' he said as he worked. 'I'll understand if you -'

'You don't have to,' said Cloud. He fidgeted. 'I... broke your vase. And that table... and um, I hope those papers on your desk weren't important. I'm sorry.'

Sephiroth dropped the last of the bandages onto the coverlet and stared at him. So many apologies, and he was sure he didn't deserve any of them. Cloud blushed, but didn't look away.

'You're not going to apologise for stabbing me, now, are you?' Sephiroth said exasperatedly.

'No, you deserved that.'

Apparently Cloud hadn't meant to say that. His eyes widened (and they were already wide with fatigue) and his face paled. That could as easily have been blood-loss, Sephiroth supposed.

He gripped Cloud's wrist gently and held his hand up so it was above his heart.

'I can't do much for this,' he said, by way of explanation. 'If you hold it up like this, though, it will help slow the bleeding. Hopefully, Zackary will think to bring Aerith this morning. She is a very gifted healer.'

Cloud's arm looked awkward, held out and up at a high angle. Sephiroth edged closer to spare him any more discomfort. One of Sephiroth's knees bumped softly against Cloud's. The soft rasp of silk on fine-spun wool sent a weird tingle along Sephiroth's spine. That, at least, was something familiar.

Out in the corridor, there were faint sounds of raised voices and running footsteps, rapidly drawing near. Sephiroth ran an idle thumb over the palm of Cloud's hand, not entirely sure why. Maybe it was the calluses he felt under his fingers. He'd always preferred tradesmen over aristocrats.

'You...' he said after a long moment of silence. 'You are a remarkable man.'

Almost soon as he'd spoken, the door burst open, sparing Sephiroth what he was certain was going to be another awkward moment. Zack and Kadaj tumbled in, Zack with his shoulder pressed firmly into Kadaj's neck.

'You can bloody well _wait _for half an -' Zack broke off, gaping. A heartbeat later, he broke into a storm of - to Sephiroth, _inexplicable _- laughter. Cloud watched him, looking quite as bewildered as Sephiroth felt.

Kadaj stood a pace behind Zack, a look somewhere between fear and disappointment on his face. At least _he_ was easily handled. Sephiroth sat up and straightened his clothing as best he could, which wasn't much, then leveled his most haughty expression at Kadaj. He ignored the still-cackling Zack.

'May I help you, Kadaj?' he said.

'Mother sent me,' Kadaj glanced at Cloud, who was beginning to smile himself at the sight of Zack's mirth. His lip curled. 'She wanted to know if the girl survived.'

'As you can see, _Lady Tifa_ did,' Sephiroth raised an eyebrow. 'If that is all, leave. I have things to discuss with Viscount Fair and my fiancée.'

Kadaj didn't move. 'She'll want _details_,' he said. Tears were running down Zack's face by now. Cloud bit his lip.

'Then I will give them to her myself in the early afternoon,' said Sephiroth firmly. '_After_ I have taken care of some personal affairs.'

Kadaj made a guttural, irritated noise, turned on his heel and marched from the room. The door of Sephiroth's outer chamber slammed behind him.

Zack stumbled over to Sephiroth's bed, where he grabbed the footboard for support. Sephiroth still wasn't entirely sure what was funny, but he hoped Zack stopped laughing before he suffocated. He glanced curiously at Cloud. He was laughing too, probably at Zack.

Barely a minute later Aerith poked her head around the door. She looked terribly pale, Sephiroth noticed, and her eyes were puffy.

'Can we - _Tifa_! Tifa he's alright!' She sped into Sephiroth's room, dragging a thoroughly bemused Tifa in her wake and nearly slipping on what used to be an artful floral bouquet. Zack caught Aerith in his arms as she passed, apparently not as short-winded as he'd looked, and pulled her into a slightly giddy jig.

As they whirled away, Tifa slipped her hand from Aerith's and hurried over to Cloud's side of the bed. Cloud smiled at her in a way that Sephiroth supposed was meant to be reassuring. He looked too pale and too tired to pull it off, in Sephiroth's opinion, but maybe it was the thought that counted. He'd heard people say that.

He was alarmed - though Cloud didn't look surprised at all - when Tifa suddenly let out a strangled yell and tackled Cloud. They collided heavily with Sephiroth's shoulder, and only his greater bulk stopped them from rolling off the bed altogether. He steadied them with a hastily withdrawn hand at the small of Cloud's back. Cloud gave him an apologetic look. From the way Tifa's arms were locked around him, she wasn't planning on moving soon. Sephiroth wondered how much Aerith and Zack had explained to her. He wanted to say something reassuring, if only because it seemed the appropriate thing to do, but his tongue seemed to have stuck to the roof of his mouth. For reasons he couldn't understand, she made him nervous. He ran his thumb over the palm of Cloud's hand again. It gave him something to do.

Zack suddenly appeared - _snuggled -_ at Sephiroth's shoulder, his celebratory dance over.

'What are you doing?' Sephiroth asked him.

'You're all hugging. I felt left out,' he ruffled Cloud's hair, shaking petals all over Sephiroth's lap. 'Strife. Glad to see you alive. And male.' Aerith shook out her skirts demurely and settled next to Tifa.

'He's been raving about it all night,' she said. 'It took him hours to get his head around it.'

'Not hours.'

_'Hours_.'

Sephiroth cleared his throat. 'Aerith, will you please heal Cloud's hand?'

Tifa jerked up. 'Cloud? Are you hurt? What happened?'

Aerith took Cloud's maimed hand from Sephiroth and cradled it. She rotated his wrist so that its palm faced her and bit thoughtfully at the inside of her cheek.

'There's flesh to re-grow,' she said, prodding at one of the wounds with infinite gentleness. 'I can heal you, but it'll take a while.' She looked up at Cloud, her brow furrowed. 'These are very clean cuts.'

'Yes,' Cloud nodded. He looked a little wretched. Aerith gave him a _look _(Sephiroth felt Zack tense: apparently Sephiroth needed to ask her advice on Zack-handling), but said nothing more. She closed her eyes and hummed under her breath. After a moment, a greenish light haloed her hands,

shadowing the movement of her fingers over Cloud's with a ghostly trail. Cloud and Tifa watched her work in fascination.

Zack prodded Sephiroth in the side.

'Talk,' he said. 'What exactly happened last night?'

So Sephiroth recounted what he remembered of the night, which was most of it. Cloud broke in at times, providing details such as Sephiroth breaking his ankle (Sephiroth hadn't realised the strength of his grip) and how he'd broken the vase (Aerith paused in her work to lament the fate of her flowers). Tifa squeaked when Cloud described Sephiroth attacking him, and Zack laughed when Sephiroth told how he'd fought back.

Both Sephiroth and Cloud hesitated when they came to how Cloud had _fed _Sephiroth. In hindsight, the act seemed somehow _intimate_ to Sephiroth. He regularly told Zack about his various partners, but never with Aerith present, and certainly never in detail. He shared a glance with Cloud, who gave an uncomfortable little cough.

Eventually, though, they managed to stumble through an explanation. A very awkward silence followed.

'It, uh, seemed like a good idea,' said Cloud. 'I thought... a way around the curse... would, um...'

'Yeah. Yeah,' said Zack quickly. 'You've got to think fast at times like that.'

'It's better than dying,' said Tifa.

'Much better,' agreed Aerith.

They fell silent again, no one looking at anyone else. Sephiroth caught Cloud's eye. Zack cleared his throat.

'You realise,' he said. 'You two have to get married now.'

Cloud swung a pillow at him with his free hand.

'No, really,' said Zack doggedly. He gave Sephiroth a hard stare. 'What happens now?'

Sephiroth remained very still, watching Aerith finish re-growing the flesh on Cloud's fingertips. The correct thing to do would be to inform Jenova that Cloud was a man, that he and Lady Tifa had conspired together and insulted both the Queen and himself. The _correct _thing to do rankled: Tifa was justifiably frightened and Cloud was a very loyal, if possibly insane friend, and Jenova didn't take kindly to deception of any kind.

Sephiroth believed that they'd want to go home, and the _moral_ thing to do would be to allow them to do so, even though it wouldn't change his situation any.

What Sephiroth _wanted_... He wasn't entirely sure. He was, however, quite certain that it didn't have much to do with morals.

'That... would depend on what Cloud and Lady Tifa want,' he said slowly. 'If they wish to return home, I will tell mother that the engagement is off.'

Cloud and Tifa looked at each other in silence. Tifa's brow furrowed. It seemed they had the same infuriating ability to communicate without words as Zack and Aerith. Sephiroth tried to tell himself, as he always did, that he wasn't envious.

'Tifa wants to go home,' said Cloud.

'All done,' said Aerith. She gave Cloud's newly healed fingertips a gentle squeeze. 'Let me see your ankle.'

'No thank you,' said Cloud. 'I've already troubled you -'

'That wasn't a request,' said Aerith sweetly.

'Don't argue with her,' warned Zack. 'She hits pretty hard.'

Aerith tugged Cloud's injured leg into her lap. Sephiroth knew from bitter experience that she'd merrily twist his leg to an uncomfortable (but not quite painful) angle if he didn't cooperate, so he helped her by pulling Cloud around so that his leg was straight. Aerith made an approving little noise and set to work.

'What do you want to do?' he asked quietly. Zack leaned on his shoulder, and Sephiroth couldn't help imagining a hunting dog with its ears pricked forward. Cloud craned his neck, the better to look at him. 'You said that Lady Tifa wants to go home,' he said. 'What do _you_ want?'

'I...' Cloud frowned minutely. 'If I leave, what'll happen?'

'I suppose,' said Sephiroth 'that mother will arrange another fiancée.' A nauseous thought.

Cloud pressed his lips into a line. 'Will she have to... uh, do the same as me?'

'I'd expect so.'

'Then I want to stay,' said Cloud firmly. Sephiroth felt Zack tense at his shoulder. He looked at him and saw a terribly familiar expression on his face. Zack was getting _ideas_.

Tifa grabbed Cloud's hands. She didn't say anything, though she looked as though she wanted to.

'You'll have to pretend to be Lady Tifa,' said Sephiroth.

Zack prodded him, hard, just beneath his ribs.

'_Stop trying to get him to leave_,' he hissed.

'I don't mind,' said Cloud. Zack began to chuckle. 'I didn't mean... damn it.'

'That's alright,' said Aerith. She pushed Cloud's healed ankle from her lap and gave his knee an encouraging pat. 'Our clothes _are_ much nicer than yours.'

Cloud groaned.

'That _robe francaise_ really emphasises those sexy curves of yours,' added Zack. He grinned wickedly. 'And,' he drew the word out in a sing-song voice 'it provides easy access to more interesting areas -'

'Zackary, get out of my chambers,' said Sephiroth.

* * *

As he washed and dressed an hour or so later, Sephiroth considered what he'd tell Jenova. He didn't understand her intentions at all. A test of a royal bride's worthiness? He'd never heard of such a thing. Especially a test so likely to kill the unfortunate woman. Why, when she was the one to insist upon his engagement, would Jenova try to kill his fiancée? And why so indirectly? Making _him_ into the assassin when she knew how he hated the _fucking_ curse... _why_? He shook his head; he was too tired today to fathom the Stygian depths of his mother's mind. He splashed a little cold water on his face before he left the en suite and walked to the parlour.

Zack waited for him, feet propped on the coffee table, no doubt regaling Cloud, Aerith and Tifa with his seemingly endless supply of ridiculous stories and bawdy jokes. Sephiroth had agreed to let him come to his audience with the Queen, after he'd promised to behave.

Zack had had to promise twice: Sephiroth remembered the last time Zack came with him to make a report to Jenova. Loz's eyebrows had grown back eventually, but he still shuddered at the sight of a pot of fondue. In the end, Sephiroth only agreed to let him come this time because he was too tired to argue.

...And he was rather hoping that Zack would make something explode within fifteen minutes and give him an excuse to leave early. If he managed to singe Kadaj's hair in the process, so much the better.

Not that Sephiroth would ever admit that, of course.

Zack jumped to his feet, far more enthusiastically than Sephiroth could've managed given the situation. Perhaps he already some mayhem planned.

_One can only hope_.

'Let's get it over with,' Zack said. 'I'm hungry.'

'You could stay here,' said Sephiroth. He nodded, mostly to Cloud. 'I'll have something sent up. You should rest.'

Zack snorted and shoved Sephiroth toward the door. 'I've already talked to them, Daddy-bear, and they've promised to eat and sleep and not leave like good girls and boy.' He gave one last especially forceful shove and closed the door behind them. Sephiroth put up with the manhandling with as much dignity as he was able.

Once out in the corridor, Zack fell uncharacteristically silent. At least until they'd rounded the nearest corner, anyway.

'So,' he said. 'Cloud. What do you think?'

Sephiroth had been expecting this. He was actually surprised it had taken Zack so long.

'He's attractive,' he said. _And remarkable_.

'Just that?' Zack blew a soft raspberry of disapproval. 'I was hoping for something more like... "oh, he's fed me his fingers and stolen my heart". _Attractive_ is what you said about that stable hand last month and that little _liaison_ only lasted twelve hours.'

'Cloud has slimmer hands,' said Sephiroth absently. They passed a rather ferrety looking official heading in the opposite direction. He bowed low to Sephiroth, who nodded curtly in return.

'You're impressed,' said Zack. He made a gesture at the official's retreating back. He didn't like being snubbed. 'I can tell.' He gave Sephiroth a significant look, and received the blankest face in Sephiroth's repertoire in return.

'Fine, be boring,' Zack sniffed.

The heavy doors to Jenova's chambers were just ahead now, closed as always, a guard at either side. Guarding the Queen's chamber was supposed to be a great honour, but Sephiroth usually assigned it to officers who annoyed him. It was terribly boring, and left one in the firing line of one of the royal family's frequent tantrums.

'That, Zackary, may well be the problem,' Sephiroth muttered. He ignored the guards and pushed open the doors to his mother's chambers. Zack had to pause on the threshold for a moment, while his eyes adjusted to the darkness, then he fell into step behind Sephiroth.

Jenova sat where she had the day before, in one of those uncomfortable chairs. Sephiroth could remember having sat opposite her as a boy, his toes barely scraping the floor and his spine aching while she lectured him. It took him longer than he was willing to admit to work out that Jenova's chair had a nice fat cushion that let her carry on quite comfortably while her victim was left to writhe. He took his seat. Beside him, Zack sat rigidly. Not even Zack could relax in these chairs.

Behind Jenova, flickering like ghosts in the weird candlelight were Sephiroth's brothers, each with varying expressions of boredom. Yazoo wasn't even pretending: he'd brought a book, knowing from experience that their mother wouldn't let anyone touch _her_ books. Loz had taken up a position by one of the heavily curtained windows, where he looked out through a narrow gap in the curtains. Only Kadaj seemed to be paying any attention. From his avid expression, he was dying to know what happened during the night.

Sephiroth didn't acknowledge them.

Jenova herself looked ... she looked exhausted. Sephiroth was somewhat taken aback: he'd never seen his mother in anything less than perfect health, or perfect poise. If Zack shared his surprise, he hid it almost as well as did Sephiroth himself. A twitch of one of his legs was the only hint he gave.

'Good morning, mother.'

Jenova inclined her head briefly. 'Sephiroth. And Viscount Fair.' She propped her chin on a curled fist, her lips twitched into a shadow of a smirk. In the gloom, Sephiroth could just make out the fine lines on her face, hidden beneath a heavy layer of powder. Zack murmured a response, which Jenova ignored, before she continued. 'Kadaj tells me that Lady Tifa survived the night. I must confess that I hadn't expected it of her.'

'Do you confess that you were trying to kill her?' muttered Zack. Sephiroth shot a warning glance at him.

Jenova smiled thinly. 'If I wanted the Lady dead, I have far more direct methods, Viscount. As I told Sephiroth yesterday, I merely worried that she might be less than worthy.'

'You needn't have worried, mother,' said Sephiroth. 'She is a remarkable woman.'

'I wonder,' said Jenova. She daintily covered a yawn with her free hand. 'I would like to know _how_ she managed to survive.' She settled further back into her seat, chin still in hand, the very picture of idle curiosity.

Sephiroth knew better. He took a moment to shift slightly in his seat, crossed one leg over another and let his fingertips twitch on the arm of his chair.

'That is... personal,' he said. Behind the Queen, Kadaj raised his eyebrows.

'Oh?' Jenova smiled again. 'I do hope there won't be any scandals.'

The twitching fingers were a good touch, Sephiroth thought. He never twitched.

'_I_ thought you preferred men,' said Kadaj. Jenova ignored him pointedly, but Sephiroth offered him a wry smile.

'Perhaps you misread your notes.'

'Children,' said Jenova. 'Sephiroth, won't you tell me what happened last night?' She gave him a soft-eyed look. 'You can tell mother, can't you, my darling?'

'There are some things a mother needn't know about her son,' said Sephiroth. 'Rest assured I have accepted the Lady Tifa as my fiancée.'

There was a long, cold moment before Jenova replied. 'I see.'

'If that was all, mother, Viscount Fair and I will take our leave.'

'One moment,' another pause while Jenova covered a yawn. 'I have yet to set your _fiancée's_ second test.'

'I hardly think that's necessary.'

'I think it is,' Jenova said in an infuriatingly level tone. 'My feelings as a mother aside, this woman may well be the future queen.' She smoothed out her skirts. 'I want her to bring me a golden feather from the head of a phoenix.'

Sephiroth blinked.

'That's it?' said Zack. 'What do you want with that?'

'Phoenix feathers are both valuable and rare,' said Jenova. She was smiling in a way that unnerved Sephiroth. He couldn't think how this task was anything like being locked in with him. Phoenix were rare, certainly, but not exactly dangerous. No more so than any other large bird, at any rate. There had to be something else to this task. Maybe she expected the bird to peck Cloud to death when he plucked its feather? 'I want it before the dark of the moon. Now,' she yawned again 'you may leave.'

* * *

'She could've just said she wants it next week,' said Zack. He and Sephiroth had told Cloud, Aerith and Tifa about their brief meeting with Jenova over a late breakfast. Zack stared into the remains of his coffee. 'I don't think the dramatic airs were necessary.'

'It sounds easy enough,' said Tifa. While Sephiroth and Zack were gone, she'd sent for her luggage and was going through it to find another gown for Cloud.

Cloud didn't look especially enthused at the prospect.

'Are there any phoenix living nearby?' he asked. He sat beside Sephiroth on the couch nearest the fire. Tifa and Aerith had bullied him into stripping off the ruined gown and wrapped him in Sephiroth's robe. He'd rolled the sleeves up twice and retreated grimly to the couch to stay out of their way. 'Maybe she's hoping I'll take too long or get lost.'

Sephiroth's knowledge of local fauna was formidable, but he couldn't remember ever having seen any phoenix. From what he understood of the elusive birds, they preferred warm, dry climates over temperate.

'I don't believe so,' he said, glancing at Zack, who shrugged.

'There was a rumour about one nesting somewhere on the south coast,' Zack said. 'Lieutenant Lowery swore he'd seen it up close.' He took a sip of the last of the cold coffee and made a face. 'He was a bit mad, though. A little too fond of the whiskey.'

'So the only phoenix on this continent is probably a hallucination,' sighed Aerith. 'At least she's not trying to kill you this time.'

'You could just get a chicken feather and paint it,' said Zack. 'Except that it won't work if she actually wants to use the feather for anything.'

'Phoenix feathers tend not to be decorative.' Sephiroth watched Tifa critically examine a gown in embroidered pale green silk and toss it aside dismissively. 'I imagine mother has some use in mind for it.'

'Perhaps you could just buy one from a merchant?' Zack had abandoned his coffee and seemed to be looking for something to keep his hands busy. He moved a few crumbs on the serving tray around with his fingertips. 'Jenova never said it had to be _Cloud_ that got the feather from the phoenix, just that he had to bring one to her.'

Cloud winced. 'I don't have that kind of money.' One of Tifa's gowns, this one in pale gold landed on his lap and he winced again.

'We could help, you know,' said Aerith. Cloud shook his head firmly and Tifa gave a long-suffering sigh.

'No, we couldn't. He's too proud,' she said.

'I doubt that would work, in any case,' said Sephiroth. 'Mother seems to have a knack for knowing when one is being dishonest.' Cloud and Tifa gave him a curious glance, and Zack looked delighted. 'I lied about breaking an ornament when I was a child. It wasn't the best idea I've ever had,' he told them grudgingly.

'What did she do to you?' asked Cloud.

Sephiroth shook his head repressively. 'It's not important.' He gave a rather vicious smirk. 'But I've learned to be a much better liar since.'

'And become twice as scary,' said Zack. 'He makes more officials piss themselves every week than she does. I've counted.'

'That's nice, Zack, but it won't help Cloud get that feather,' said Aerith.

A contemplative silence fell, broken only by the sound of the fire and the soft rustle of Tifa still sorting through the formidable wardrobe of a courtly lady. Every now and then, a gown, a bodice, an embroidered petticoat would sail in front of Sephiroth and settle over Cloud's lap. _That blue one would look good_, Sephiroth thought, and immediately pretended he hadn't.

'A menagerie,' said Zack suddenly. Sephiroth looked up at him, eyebrows raised.

'A menagerie,' he said. 'If anyone had a _phoenix_, we would have heard of it.'

'Maybe not,' argued Zack. 'What if a private collector had one?'

'Then they'd boast.'

'Not if they were crazy or reclusive,' Zack was beginning to bounce in his seat, a sure sign of danger. 'There's an elderly Count just outside Midgar. He was friends with my grandfather.' Zack bounced to his feet. 'Apparently he was always eccentric, then he went really _weird_ after his wife died.'

'Why would he have -'

'I'm getting to that! See, his wife died giving birth to their son, and the old guy put everything into raising him. Spoiled him rotten. _He even built a menagerie_, just for him.' Zack grinned. 'I was told it was full of all the rarest specimens he could get his hands on.'

'Do you think he'd let us see them?' asked Aerith. Zack looked at her and seemed to deflate a little.

'I don't know. His son died in a war when he was nineteen. That twenty years ago. The old man might've sold off all the animals, or they've died. _He_ might even be dead.' He flopped back onto the couch. Aerith took one of his hands and laced their fingers together.

'Could we go see anyway?' she asked. 'It couldn't hurt.'

'Tomorrow, then,' Zack brightened visibly. 'It's about half a day's ride from here.'

'What can the rest of us do?' asked Cloud. 'I don't think a crazy old man is going to appreciate having all of us turn up.'

Zack shrugged. 'You can't exactly go wandering around the city on your own.' Sephiroth watched Cloud bristle out of the corner of his eye. He laid a hand a placating hand on his shoulder.

'Unfortunately my dear younger brother keeps a close watch on who comes and goes from my apartments. If you left as a man, he would wonder when you arrived, and if you left as a woman, he would no doubt follow you. Either way, it would be troublesome.'

Cloud slouched back into the couch, scowling. Another of Tifa's gowns landed in his lap. His scowl deepened.

'I can have some enquiries made locally,' said Sephiroth. 'Perhaps among the lower classes as well.'

'Who do you know in the lower classes?' asked Zack. 'You don't mix.'

'Christopher,' said Sephiroth. Zack thought for a moment, before recognition blossomed across his face.

'The one you were with last Easter,' he said. 'I didn't realise you were still on speaking terms.'

'Christopher was only interested in play, there were no ill feelings between us.'

'Play...?' Tifa repeated curiously. Cloud, apparently having led a less sheltered life, blushed and cleared his throat awkwardly.

'I'll tell you about it later,' Aerith said kindly. Sephiroth raised his eyebrows at Zack, who met his gaze evenly. It was hardly a surprise to Sephiroth that he'd told Aerith everything.

Cloud coughed again. 'So, this... friend of yours can ask around. What else? Would there be anything in a book somewhere?'

'Perhaps,' Sephiroth tried to keep the doubt out of his voice. Doing nothing would grate on him as well. 'We can search the Library tomorrow, if you're so inclined.'

* * *

The rest of the day passed in a kind of daze for Sephiroth, though he was certain he hid it well enough. He was still tired from the night before, and he knew Cloud would be as well. Every now and again, he'd catch him nodding out of the corner of his eye. Tifa eventually finished sorting through her clothes, lamented not having nearly enough and their less-than-perfect fit, and Aerith promised they'd search her wardrobe later. Zack, to his credit, only laughed for a minute or so, and not too loudly. Perhaps he was tired too. Sephiroth doubted any of them had slept much the previous night. That was why Zack and Aerith, with Tifa in tow, left earlier than they usually might have that afternoon.

Left alone, Sephiroth and Cloud lapsed into silence for several minutes. The strange thing, at least from Sephiroth's point of view, was that it was a far more companionable silence than that morning. Perhaps nearly killing each other was some kind of exercise in human bonding? An upbringing with a mother as cold as Jenova tended to leave Sephiroth somewhat confused in such matters.

He did, however, understand etiquette.

'Are you tired?' Sephiroth asked. 'You can have the bed. I'll sleep out here.'

He knew Cloud would argue and wasn't disappointed. 'No, I'm used to sleeping rough. I'll take the floor.'

'You're my guest.'

'I'll fight you for it.'

Sephiroth smiled before he could stop himself. 'I'd win.'

As Cloud opened his mouth to retort, someone knocked politely at the door: he quickly assumed an attitude of demure femininity. At a word from Sephiroth, a small parade of maids entered, carrying a pallet, pillows and an armful of blankets between them. To Sephiroth's irritation, Kadaj followed in their wake, a satisfied half smile curling his lips.

'Are you moving out?' Sephiroth asked, as if he'd ever be so lucky.

'Hardly,' Kadaj sat, without waiting for an invitation (he'd never receive one), on the vacant couch as the maids scurried to and fro, setting up the pallet in an empty corner close to the fireplace. 'Mother has given your and your fiancée's ... indiscretion due consideration and decided that you need a chaperone.'

Cloud blushed and twisted his hands in his lap.

'If mother is worried about Lady Tifa's reputation, she should not have forced her to spend a night in my room,' said Sephiroth. 'Get out.'

'Mother's orders outweigh yours,' retorted Kadaj. His eyes shone gleefully.

'Then you'll sleep in the antechamber,' Sephiroth said. He stood abruptly and offered a hand to Cloud. 'We will see you in the morning.'

With that, he ushered Cloud ahead of him into his bedroom, and slammed the door behind him.

* * *

Alone in Viscount Fair's guestroom, Tifa remembered the gift from Cloud's mother. It'd slipped her mind the night before, but now...

She took the cherry wood box from the bottom of her trunk, and sat with it on the end of her bed, admiring the way it fit in the palm of her hand. The carvings were so intricate, detailed with patterns so very delicate - perhaps she should return it to Cloud's mother when she got home? It had to be valuable, and the Strifes weren't wealthy. Accepting a gift like the little box would be selfish of her, she thought, especially seeing as she wasn't getting married any more.

Perhaps she should give the box to Cloud? Tifa shook her head. Aerith had explained the Prince's... tastes earlier in the evening. Tifa wasn't entirely sure what she thought. Two men romantically, _sexually_ (she blushed crimson in the dim light of her room) was... it wasn't right, was it? And when one of them was _Cloud_, Cloud, the little boy with the too-serious stare who never seemed intimidated by her rank. The _witchling_, her best friend. It was all too strange for Tifa.

She stroked the lacquered patterns of the box with her fingertips. It nestled in the palm of one cupped hand like a little bird. She'd have to ask Mistress Strife what was inside.

But...

What harm could looking bring? She was alone, after all, and the box _was_ originally for her.

Tifa licked her lips and carefully opened the lid of the box.

She didn't notice how the shadows in the corner of the room leaned in closer.


End file.
